The Heart of the Lion
by Shakespira
Summary: The Lion of Orlais, Leonie Caron, takes up her duties as Warden Commander of Ferelden. Still mourning Duncan, she is determined to find her nemisis, the Architect, and destroy him. Will she find love along the way? *M for later chapters.*
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: **_This is a sequel to __**The Lion of Orlais**__ and while it isn't necessary to read the original story, doing so will make this story easier to understand at times.  
- Spoilers for Origins and Awakening contained within.  
- Bioware owns all, I am just a dreamer, borrowing their vision._

**An Uncivil Welcome**

It was not supposed to happen this way. She wanted longer to mourn Duncan, longer to come to terms with everything that had happened. Not only had she lost her beloved Duncan at Ostagar, she had lost her dearest friend Riordan during the final battle in Denerim. To hear that Loghain was the only surviving Grey Warden in Ferelden and Duncan's protégé Alistair had abandoned his brothers on the eve of battle devastated her. And why had Phindar Surana, the mage who was to be her second, made the killing blow? Why hadn't Loghain insisted on doing that? The man led too charmed a life, she thought sourly.

Nothing had gone as it should and now she was being forced to leave Val Royeaux to take up command at some place called Vigil's Keep. Leonie dragged her heels, finding excuse after excuse for not leaving immediately. Kristoff came to see her before he left for Ferelden.

"Leonie, it's time to put one foot in front of the other and move forward. Isn't that what you told me Duncan taught you? Press forward, always forward. You have to do so now."

Leonie sighed, rubbing her temples with her fingers, trying to rub away a headache that seemed ever present. He was right, of course. Duncan would hate to see her in this state, hollow eyed and pale, moping and morose. She dropped her hands and nodded.

"You are right, my friend. It is time to press forward. I want you and the others to leave as planned. I will take a month to train Laurent and then I shall join you."

Kristoff nodded and flashed a sudden smile. "You look like a ragamuffin, Commander. I don't think I'll ever get used to your hair that short."

Leonie frowned and reached up to run her fingers through her short hair. She had cut her braid off, as all Orlesian women did after the death of a loved one. By tradition it was supposed to be growing out. The length of mourning was determined by how long it took for a woman's hair to once again reach below her shoulders. She hadn't allowed it to grow at all, hacking it short every few weeks.

"Well, you practically shave your head, Kristoff, I hardly think you have a say in the matter," she responded with a faint smile for him as he stood to leave.

"And Kristoff," she added as he made his way to the door, "be safe."

"You and Aura, always the same. Of course I'll be safe."

And with another flash of a smile, he was gone.

* * *

Light rain was quickly giving way to a steadier downpour and the air had cooled considerably since they had left Amaranthine. The road was becoming a muddy rivulet and the horses were slipping and sinking in it. She pulled her cloak tighter and hunched down in the saddle. After an hour the rain lightened again but the clouds clung tenaciously to the sky.

As they approached the fortress known as Vigil's Keep, Leonie could not help but be impressed with the huge rock and timber fortress looming in the gloom. This is what she had always imagined Ferelden structures to look like, vast dismal edifices that had no clear design, just stretching up and out haphazardly, looking strong and forbidding, much like many Fereldans she had met.

As they drew closer, she instructed Mhairi, an uncertain horsewoman at best, to dismount and they continued on foot.

She couldn't help but wonder if she was walking in the same places that Duncan had once walked and the thought slowed her strides as a sharp pang of grief, clutching with talons at her heart, threatened to stop her in her tracks altogether. She struggled for a moment, surprised that after so many months, the pain was still so intense. But then the young knight beside her spoke and her grief slithered back into the bleakness of her soul.

"Warden Commander, are you sure it is wise to continue on foot?"

Leonie sighed. Was there ever a more earnest and naïve recruit as young Ser Mhairi, she wondered. Leonie was concerned that it was her very earnestness and naivety that would be her death sentence. She had learned that is was the hardened and strong willed who survived the Joining most often, not those who dreamed of griffons and glory, with no comprehension of sacrifice and vigilance. Still, as Mhairi was already a recruit, there was little she could do to prevent her from joining, though she had tried to discourage her. The young knight proved impervious to her attempts.

"Trust me, Ser Mhairi, you do not wish to come across a band of darkspawn while traveling on horseback. And there are darkspawn about. I cannot tell how many or where exactly, but they are there."

Leonie removed her cloak and instructed Mhairi to do the same. Fighting in cloaks or on horseback were tricky skills to acquire and she didn't want to see Mhairi tripping on her cloak in the midst of a battle, or worse, have the cloak catch on her sword and wrap around it half a dozen times.

Mhairi was content with her answer and they continued up a gentle slope in the road. Tingling alerted Leonie to the presence of darkspawn, a brisk pull and tug at her blood and a short time later it was the hot stinging of blood trying to stab its way out of her veins that told her there were many and they are nearby.

"Be on the ready, Ser Mhairi. They are close."

"Maker's breath, Vigil's Keep is just around that bend up there. Hurry!" Mhairi yelled and began to run.

Sighing, Leonie went after her. Earnest, naïve and impetuous, she amended as she unsheathed her sword and dagger.

There were indeed darkspawn. Too many of them and she could smell the stench of death and tainted blood and burning wood and the unmistakably acrid foulness of burning flesh. But she was the commander and it was up to her to keep a level head so she beat back the fear that rose like angry bees in her stomach and she managed to pick up a new recruit, whether he realized it or not, along the way.

Heartbreakingly, it appeared that her brothers from Orlais were all dead or missing. Her handpicked brothers were gone and another wave of grief and guilt rippled through her. And Kristoff, where was Kristoff? How had such an attack occurred while he was in charge? She tamped the grief down. Now was not the time, but the feeling of self reproach, the anger at herself for not having arrived sooner ate away at her as she fought.

Most disturbing was the talking hurlock that wanted to capture her, not kill her. She knew then that the Architect was out there and she smiled bitterly. _You will die, creature. Never doubt it._

Before Leonie could catch her breath, her new seneschal, Varel, was directing her attention to the sounds of metal clad feet marching through mud. _Now there are troops arriving right after a horrific battle?_ Leonie grit her teeth and removed her helmet, wondering if the eternally long day would ever end.

"Let us hope they are friendlier than the last arrivals, yes?" she asked Varel softly and offered him a wry smile. They weren't.

She surveyed the queen's entourage as it made its way up the curving entrance to the keep, and more specifically she studied the aloof woman with golden hair and the tall man beside her. Queen Anora and her father, Loghain Mac Tir.

_This is the woman Cousin Celene called the rose among the brambles_? More like a calla lily on a frosty morning, Leonie thought as she removed her gauntlets. And the infamous Loghain was wearing Chevalier's plate, which made Leonie's teeth ache, her jaws were so tightly clenched; the sharp picture of Marliss and Maraville was a vivid splash against her briefly lowered lids.

"Your Majesty, welcome to Vigil's Keep," Leonie murmured, dropping down on one knee and bowing her head. She supposed she should have curtsied but doing so in full plate was painful and awkward and as tired as she was she wasn't entirely sure she could manage it.

"Thank you. I see we are too late to offer assistance," the queen acknowledged in her cool, regal tones.

"So it would seem. No matter, we have secured the keep for the moment," Leonie replied with a slightly raised brow but carefully hiding the ire she felt. She rose and continued, "I am Leonie Caron, former Warden Commander of the Grey of Val Royeaux,"

"Welcome to Ferelden, Commander," Anora said coolly and then turned to the man beside her.

"This is General Loghain Mac Tir," she introduced, with a slight warming in her tone and a fond nod of her head.

Leonie found her fists were clenched, though she had no clear recollection of clenching them. She looked at Loghain Mac Tir and then Queen Anora.

"I beg your pardon, your Majesty, but the Grey Wardens have no titles. This man is _Warden_ Loghain," she contradicted as politely as she was able. There would no doubt be power struggles yet in their future and she was determined to make sure both the queen and Loghain understood that she would not allow such a thing. The air around her got noticeably colder, which made it frigid. Leonie barely held back a sigh.

"Yet you have a title. How very interesting," the queen responded in dangerously dulcet tones.

"As will Warden Loghain, should he ever rise within the ranks of the Grey Wardens. Perhaps I should explain more clearly, yes?" Leonie asked with a helpful smile.

"Grey Wardens relinquish all former titles when they become Grey Wardens. Ranks within the Wardens are limited to command ranks," she added sweetening her smile.

She met Queen Anora's glacial stare with a carefully neutral one of her own. Again she barely held back a sigh. She could almost hear Duncan's reproving, _"Diplomacy, Lion," _as she stood there.

She glanced at Loghain who was standing very tall and straight, glowering at her and his daughter in equal measure. An impossible situation that would have to be dealt with at a later time as a templar came striding up, claiming that a dangerous apostate was in their midst.

Leonie waved her away with an angry scowl.

"This man, Anders, is hereby conscripted into the Grey Wardens, Templar. Do not touch him or you shall deal with me and I assure you it will not go in your favor," Leonie said in even tones.

Anders, the apostate in question, whistled sharply and stood up straighter. She turned her gaze to him and said sternly, "Do not disappoint me, Anders."

"A Grey Warden? And the templars can't touch me? I am your humble servant, Commander," Anders replied and she heard the gratitude in his voice, mixed with a healthy dose of innuendo and she couldn't help her quick intake of breath as grief hit her in the stomach like a well aimed fist. He sounded so much like Riordan at that moment.

"Do not thank me, Anders. You will have much work to do in the coming weeks. But I think you will make a fine warden."

"No, your majesty, I must protest. This murderer needs to be brought to justice," the templar cried, her voice shrill in her anger. Leonie fought the urge to cover her ears. The woman sounded like an angry fishmonger on market day.

Queen Anora's voice was as cold as the Frostbacks when she told the templar that she would allow the conscription, though Leonie couldn't tell if the ice was directed at the templar or herself. She would assume both.

"And now I must leave. There is trouble in the Bannorn."

Leonie felt a prickle of unease. "Trouble, your majesty?" she asked quietly.

"Nothing you need concern yourself with, Commander. It has nothing to do with the Grey Wardens," Queen Anora answered in a voice both dismissive and icy.

Leonie tried to relax her muscles and she took a steadying breath. "My mother is married to Bann Roan Gilmore of Hunter Fell and my uncle is Bann Renfrew Parnell of Goldenvale, your majesty. I ask only about their safety," she explained evenly. Apparently upsetting the queen was not a good idea.

Leonie watched as a look of surprise skittered across the queen's features and she was fairly certain she would see much the same look on Loghain's face but she held her gaze steady on the queen.

"Both fine men and loyal to Ferelden. They're in no danger," Loghain said finally when it became apparent that Anora would say nothing.

His voice was not what she had expected. Deep and worn around the edges, a shade cool, but warmer than his daughter's. She had expected the booming voice of a monster.

"Thank you," Leonie said reluctantly.

With that, the queen's face softened for the blink of an eye as she turned and gave her father a slight nod of her head. "Be safe, Father," she said softly and took her leave with no fanfare at all.

It was then that the red haired dwarf piped up, his voice raspy and thick with drink, demanding to be a Grey Warden. Leonie straightened her shoulders and turned to him. She had hoped he would not ask such a thing because she knew he would not like her answser.

"I am sorry, ser. Your help here tonight is very greatly appreciated but I do not believe the Grey Wardens are for you," she said as kindly and firmly as she could.

He immediately became offended. He grabbed his axe, swung it over his shoulder and started down the road, staggering slightly, muttering very colorful curses as he went. Most were directed at her and yet again she bit back a sigh.

"Are you sure that was wise? With the loss of the _Orlesians_, he might have been of some –," Loghain began, his voice a clear reproof. She held a hand up, cutting him off.

"A moment, Warden," she said, fighting to control her temper, which was flaring sharply and threatening to become a raging inferno. She would not allow him that kind of familiarity and second guessing. Not now, not ever.

She walked some feet away from Varel, Ser Mhairi and Anders. Mhairi looked faintly scandalized and Anders looked more than a little amused. Varel was stone faced. She would at least spare Loghain the indignity of being reprimanded within hearing of the others even if he had not been as considerate.

When she spoke, her voice was low and cold. "The losses we suffered today were not _Orlesians_, they were your brothers, just as I am not Orlesian and you are not Fereldan. Grey Wardens are all brothers and sisters," she began and there was a certain amount of contempt in her voice that she knew she ought to do something about but didn't.

"Furthermore, I will not have you undermining my authority. I assure you, Warden, insubordination is not tolerated in our ranks."

She had his attention. She could feel the heat of his anger, see it in his rigid posture.

"The dwarf may have been an excellent warrior at one time but he was drunk when he joined us and continued to drink throughout the fighting, putting us all at risk. While it is true that we accept even the most disreputable of people…" she paused briefly, ensuring her meaning was clear before she continued, "we consider it very dangerous to have drunkards swinging large weapons about willy nilly in our midst," she finished.

His eyes widened before he brought his own anger under careful control. She saw the effort it required and she took a certain childish pleasure in that.

She leaned in even closer, narrowing her eyes to meet his, dark blue eyes clashing with ice blue eyes. "Have you your orders for Montsimmard with you, Warden?" she asked in a lethally quiet voice.

He looked startled at the sudden direction the conversation had taken and then she saw him fight to mask it. "I do," he replied stonily.

"Hand them to me."

She watched as Loghain lowered his pack and after a moment of rummaging, he produced the vellum. She took it and quickly tore the orders into small pieces. She carefully handed them back.

"Welcome to Vigil's Keep," she said coldly and walked away.


	2. Chapter 2

**Choices**

Sitting in his room some time later, wearing just a pair of trousers, he picked up a pauldron and began to polish it. There was a familiar simplicity in polishing his armor that Loghain found quite restful. The soothing repetition acted as a balm on his agitated state, a state he felt thrust on him by the new commander with her Orlesian accent and her Orlesian arrogance. What had she been thinking? Or had she even bothered thinking? Her decision had seemed an emotional reaction rather than a reasoned decision.

Staying at Vigil's Keep would not have been his first choice. But then, he reflected dryly, being a Grey Warden would not have been his first choice either. Had someone bothered to ask what he wanted at the Landsmeet he would have said "death" but he hadn't been given a choice then. And once the decision had been made by Surana, he had felt an odd relief, a shifting of weight that had given him an almost heady feeling, until the nightmares and headaches arrived. It was the relief that came from relinquishing a burden he had never wanted in the first place. Which was an odd thing to think, after thirty years of demanding obedience and making decisions. That led him back to the agitation he had felt when he first entered his room.

He reached for a greave and began to polish it with small, round swipes. Anora would no doubt be pleased that he was no longer headed into the lion's den. Orlais would not have been his first choice either, but he understood why the Wardens wanted him out of Ferelden. He wondered if his new commander understood the political ramifications of keeping him in Ferelden and if her superiors would countermand her decision. He wasn't sure how he felt about that.

A curious creature, his commander. All spit and polish one minute, spouting orders and commanding compliance and then tenderly closing the dead knight's eyes when she hadn't survived her Joining. She had certainly held her own against Anora and that was no small feat. He felt the edges of a headache, a dull rip in the fabric of his calm.

He should apologize, he supposed. He would have been no less angry with a subordinate had they challenged him in such an open manner. She had reminded him of that when she pulled him aside to talk to him, not with words, but by the very act itself. He _should_ apologize but given a choice in the matter he would rather not. He went back to polishing his greave, trying to let his mind find that cool resolve that had served him well in the past.

He was so lost in the calming movements of the cloth slowly shining the armor that he jerked when the knock came at his door. A sharp rap of knuckles, three times. And silence. He sighed as he set his polishing cloth aside and reached for his shirt.

As if conjured by his thoughts, his commander stood there, her arms full of armor pieces, her expression unreadable. She looked exhausted and he wondered how she was managing to keep on her feet, still in her heavy plate with the twined griffin wings on the chest, trimmed in dark blue enamel. Orlesian no doubt, he thought sourly.

"Here," she said and while her accent was less strident than the red haired bard's had been, it was still Orlesian and it set his teeth on edge. She thrust her burden at him and he took it before he had time to think about it.

"What is this?" he demanded, his arms now full of highly polished silverite armor.

"I believe that is armor, Warden. Why yes," she said, looking at it with her finger tapping her chin, her expression unguarded for a moment. "It is indeed armor."

"Yes I can see that, Commander. What am I to do with it? Polish it for you?" he sneered, narrowing his eyes at her. She really was an arrogant little creature, commander or no.

"You are to replace your old armor with Warden armor," she responded seriously, her expression markedly cooler.

Loghain fought the urge to drop the armor out in the hall. "I have worn my armor since River Dane. It serves me well," he replied in a tone that perfectly reflected hers.

"It is old and worn," she began and for a moment he thought she might be referring to him. He certainly couldn't deny that. He stood holding the armor, his calm beginning to fray.

"That you wear the armor of your past victories is well and fine, Warden. However, that life is behind you now, yes? It is time to wear the armor of your new life," she finished quietly and there was an earnest sincerity in her words that he found at odds with her earlier arrogance. He also found that he was clenching his jaw and he consciously relaxed the muscles.

"I see no reason to change it," he said firmly. He stretched his hands out to return the bundle of armor. A greave hit the floor and she stared down at it for a moment before looking up and meeting his eyes squarely. Any earnestness or sincerity previously there was gone, replaced with steely resolve. He recognized that look very well. He had often worn it himself.

"You speak as though you have a choice in the matter. Let me assure you, Warden, that is not the case," she replied coolly.

"A good Warden, a good _man,_ wore that armor and you could do far worse than honor his memory by wearing it," she continued and that sincerity that was so at odds with her cold implacability was back in her voice.

"His name was Narsden, if it matters at all to you," she finished quietly.

It was only after she left that Loghain realized the _Orlesians_ – the Wardens – lost at Vigil's Keep had been her comrades and most had probably been under her command. He understood how difficult that was, how much guilt and anger and self- recriminations came with the deaths. He rubbed at a spot on his cuirass. He didn't want to understand her. He sighed, suddenly feeling as old and worn as his armor.

After several minutes, he stood up and reluctantly tried on the armor. Unfortunately it fit quite well. He went back to polishing his old gauntlet.

In the morning, Loghain was faced with a choice. His own armor was gleaming, it's finish unmarred, hanging on the armor stand. The Warden armor was lighter. Better made. Newer. It was carefully laid out on the bed. Much to his relief the Warden armor did not have griffins or blue enamel on it. The engraving was delicate and simple. He wasn't happy with the fact that he actually _liked_ the armor.

He went to the window and stared out at the bustling figures below him. The commander was already busy and he wondered briefly if she had even slept. He remembered how broken his sleep had become as a general. Probably not a wink, he decided.

She was nodding at something a dwarf was saying and she glanced over at the keep, frowning before turning back to the dwarf. She nodded again and then turned back to stare up at the keep. He had trouble resisting the urge not to move away from the window. She dipped her head slightly and then walked away and he went back to the armor.

He didn't really have a choice, he knew. But the illusion of having a choice had been somehow comforting.

He ran a finger along one shiny pauldron and then began donning his new armor. She was right, as much as he hated to admit it. His old life was behind him now. He just wasn't sure he was ready for this new one he'd been thrust into.

It occurred to him as he stretched and tightened the buckles, that she had given him the armor for another reason, to help remind him that he was no longer in charge, that he was not the one giving orders. He didn't know whether to admire her or resent her for it.

As he made his way down to the dining hall, he overheard one of the maids talking to another.

"They called her the Lion of Orlais, all them Grey Wardens that was here afore. Said she killed a Chevalier."

"I heard tell she led a revolt in Weisshaupt," the other woman said in hushed, awed tones.

As soon as they noticed him, they bobbed and disappeared.

Ridiculous, Loghain scoffed. _Orlesians with their exaggerated embellishments, always creating the most colorful stories out of the most mundane events._

The mage was there before him, shoveling food into his mouth with both hands and a spoon. He glanced up at Loghain and smiled around his food, waving him in. There was something very familiar about the mage, but he shook the thought away and filled his plate.

He knew better than to sit with his back to a door. He had always carefully placed himself where he had a view of the entire room, especially the door. But he was still off balance by the events so he found himself sitting across from the mage, his back to the door.

"Did you hear about the commander killing a man with her _teeth_? I wouldn't want to get on her bad side," the mage said with an easy familiarity that put Loghain on edge.

"Nonsense. People are talking about her like she killed the Archdemon with a quill. She most certainly did not," Loghain admonished stiffly.

"You are correct, Loghain. I did not kill the Archdemon at all, but neither did you, which is a curious thing, is it not?" his new commander said softly from behind him.

Loghain had two choices as he saw it. Ignore her remark altogether or explain why he had not made the killing blow. The choice was obvious.

"Commander," he greeted flatly, reaching for an apple.

"When you are both finished, I ask that you come to my office. There are several matters that need to be addressed," she added and he could hear her plate shift as she turned around.

"Hey, aren't you going to eat, Fearless Leader?" Anders asked, waving to a chair beside him.

"I must first see a prisoner," she answered already moving away, putting distance between them in both manner and movement, which Loghain found rather curious but he certainly recognized it for what it was. He was quite adept at that very thing.

No doubt, Loghain thought snidely, as he reached for his third hunk of bread, the prisoner would be granted choices.

* * *

Leonie was already regretting her decision to have Loghain stay on at Vigil's Keep. He was arrogant and snide and far more used to giving orders than receiving them. She would have loved to see him squirming in a city full of Orlesians. But he was the most senior Warden in Ferelden at the moment, aside from herself, and she needed all the Wardens she could find. She hated that practical side of her, that side that understood duty came before personal choice.

She sat down at the desk Varel had indicated was Kristoff's and went through the drawers, searching for a clue as to where he might be and what they had found so far. There was nothing there, of course and a search of the room he had occupied yielded no better results. She noted that his pack was gone, as was his journal. She would have to talk to Varel and see if he knew where he might have gone.

Rubbing at her tired eyes, Leonie began composing letters, first to Didier to explain her decision about Loghain and another to Magnus, asking for funds. If Woolsey was correct, their coffers were nearly drained. Another to Laurent with a roster of the dead and missing Wardens.

Woolsey. How like Magnus to send her a treasurer instead of treasure. The Vigil, as Varel had explained, was in need of repairs, upgrades, and more bodies, who would need better weapons and armor. She would need a second. She had always planned on finding a Fereldan to be her second and sending Kristoff back to Val Royeaux. Her choices were limited at the moment to a man who despised her and a mage who would probably run again, given a chance.

And there was her practicality rearing its ugly head, robbing her of a choice. Leonie stood up and walked around the large office, hands clasped behind her back. Before she made Loghain her second, she had to make sure he understood that she was the commander and that he was welcome to discuss issues with her in private but he was not to countermand her orders, nor question her decisions so blatantly. But how? How could she get through that seemingly impervious wall of his?

_A man who walks the path of an adversary finds a friend_. Ceres. She hadn't thought of him in some time but his words came back as clearly as if he had just spoken them to her. How, she pondered, was she going to get that stubborn mule of a man to walk any path he didn't choose to walk?

She left her office and found Varel. He told her where Kristoff had gone and when she asked to see Narsden's room, he took her there.

"I'm sorry for your losses," he said quietly and sincerely. Leonie fought off an onslaught of sudden tears but one managed to break through and slide down her cheek.

"Thank you, Varel. They were all good men," she said and gave him a small smile.

She was learning to curb her natural inclination to touch people. In Orlais it was not only acceptable but expected. In Ferelden they seemed to consider touching each other as rude and inappropriate.

She found what she was looking for immediately. A perfectly matched set of Warden plate armor. Narsden had been a shield warrior, as tall and broad as Loghain. He had always carried two sets of heavy plate and she whispered a silent thanks to him as she removed the armor.

Of course he was less than receptive to the armor. She had hoped she would not have to order him to wear it but naturally he balked. She had hoped too that they might find a way to at least become civil to each other. She needed a confidante, someone to bounce ideas off of, someone she could plan strategies with. She had been foolish enough to hope that he might be that person but it was becoming apparent that wasn't the case. Not that she blamed him, at least not entirely. He had hated Orlesians for so long he probably didn't even know how to stop.

She left his room and went down to assist Varel and the soldiers with the task of burning bodies. She had requested a separate pyre for Mhairi.

"Your sacrifice will not be forgotten, sister. Go with the Maker," she said softly as she bent to light the pyre. Her grief, still so close to the surface, bubbled up and spilled over in tears that she carefully wiped away, blaming them on the smoke. But she missed Duncan with a fierceness that temporarily made it impossible to breathe.

After discussions with the dwarf, Captain Garavel and a sergeant whose name she forgot, she went to find Anders and Loghain. A private spoke to her just as she was about to enter the keep, explaining that a prisoner was waiting judgment. She hesitated and then went in search of the Wardens, who should be breaking their fast. The prisoner was certainly not going anywhere.

It was unnerving to hear the whispering rumors of her as she made her way to the dining hall. They really believed she was Empress Celene's lover? That she had single handedly assaulted Weisshaupt and brought it to its knees? She was just a Warden, why did people insist otherwise? Given a choice, she would answer each rumor with the truth but that would only fuel the rumors. Nobody liked a truth that was less flamboyant than a well placed rumor.

Except for Loghain. And though she did not want to feel gratitude toward him whatsoever, she couldn't help it when she heard him disabusing Anders of her mythical stature. She did have to bite back a chuckle as she realized Anders had actually heard a truth about her. As she made her way back outside, she did allow herself a tiny smile of triumph. Loghain was wearing his new armor.

She recognized in the prisoner a small part of herself. He was obviously grief stricken and bewildered by what had become of his family. The anger those feelings provoked was normal. She let his abusive words fall off her like so many arrows hitting a brick wall. When he had finished ranting she gave him a somber look.

"You have two choices, Ser Howe, and two minutes in which to choose."

He raised an eyebrow at her and for the briefest flash, she was reminded of Duncan and could not imagine why. Perhaps that fleeting look of vulnerablity that hinted at private pain.

"You may gather up the belongings you came in search of and leave. If you choose this, you will not be permitted in Vigil's Keep again.

"Or you can find an outlet for your anger and join the Grey Wardens. Killing darkspawn can be very therapeutic."

The poor man stared at her as if she had developed a third eye in the middle of her forehead. By now Varel had joined her and she felt certain, should she glance in his direction, his expression would mirror Howe's.

"You would let someone who confessed to wanting you dead join your ranks?" Howe asked and there was such a note of incredulity in his voice that she chuckled.

"As to that, there is a rumor going around the Vigil that I once killed a man with my teeth. Let me assure you, that is not a rumor but a truth. I would advise not trying to kill me. It will end badly for you."

He finally said in a rather strangled voice that he would join the Order. She flashed him a smile.

"Choice is a good thing, yes?"

And so, instead of the meeting she had planned on, she went to her office and found Anders and Loghain sitting before her desk.

"I must postpone the meeting. The prisoner is about to go through his Joining. I would ask that you both attend."

Loghain rose. "Another conscription?" he scowled.

"Not at all. I gave him a choice," she responded and was quite sure she heard his teeth grinding together as they made their way to the throne room.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: **_My thanks to all of you who have reviewed, alerted, and lurked. It means a great deal to me._

**The Path of the River**

Leonie wondered yet again if there was a map of the Vigil. The vast labyrinth of corridors was as confusing as the Grand Imperial Palace. It had taken her nearly four years to make it from the Val Royeaux Warden compound to the throne room of the palace without getting lost at least once along the way.

Trying to find the room the others had taken Nathaniel Howe to was impossible. Leonie found she was hopelessly lost. She wanted someone to be there when Howe awoke and, if she could ever figure out where she had made a wrong turn, that someone would be her. Finally she tapped on a door, hoping someone was within.

"Ah, the lovely commander is already under my spell," Anders said as he opened the door and waggled his brows at her.

"Yes, who can resist a man in robes with such a large staff?" Leonie asked dryly.

"That's what I say!" Anders agreed cheerfully, tossing her a grin and sweeping his arm wide in welcome.

"Actually, I am looking for Nathaniel Howe," she admitted, refusing to confess that she was lost.

"Lost are we?" Anders asking knowingly and Leonie sighed with a small nod.

"Well it's nice to see that the woman who single-handedly took on a complete nation of bandits with one hand tied behind her back while blindfolded actually has a flaw," he announced with an exaggerated sigh of relief.

Leonie chuckled at that, pretending she wasn't blushing. She liked Anders. His humor was quick and lively and it was impossible to be morose in his company. In some ways he reminded her of Marcus and at other times she thought he and Riordan must somehow be brothers, their suggestive humor so nearly the same.

Anders led her to Nathaniel Howe's room and with a flourishing bow, turned and went back the way he came. "Ladies in distress my specialty," he called over his shoulder as he departed. Leonie suspected ladies of any kind were his specialty but she refrained from saying so out loud.

Nathaniel Howe's face was twisting in a grimace she was familiar with. He was having a nightmare. She pulled a chair over to the bed and sat down, placing her palm on his forehead. And a fever. That was good, he would awaken shortly. The quicker he was on his feet, the sooner she could have her meeting and start looking for Kristoff and the Architect.

She wondered what Loghain was up to. She had left him with a very uneasy looking Varel, discussing the fortification improvements that Voldrik had suggested. Of course that meant money they didn't have in the coffers, but she would use her personal funds if need be. The Vigil needed to be ready as soon as possible.

The Architect was out there and she was determined to be prepared when she found him. And that reminded her that as soon as Nathaniel was able, she needed to discuss the Architect with them all, even if Magnus and Fiona skewered her later for it. Her Wardens had a right to know what they were facing. She supposed she ought to write to the First Warden and Fiona to let them know about the talking hurlock but not until she had told her men.

A groan and then Nathaniel Howe was struggling to sit up, holding his head.

"Welcome brother," she said quietly, mentally bracing herself for the inevitable anger most new unwilling recruits felt. And while he may have thought he had a choice, Leonie had seen immediately that he was not the kind to simply walk away, there was a nobility of spirit that he exuded, it was that which had reminded her of Duncan. That desire to do the right thing, no matter the cost. That was what had stayed his blade she felt sure.

"It would have been kinder to hang me," he began, his voice hoarse and harsh. "What did you do to me?"

She sighed and began to explain about the taint, the shortened lifespan, the increased appetite and stamina, the nightmares. He was, not unexpectedly, very upset. He didn't yell, he didn't berate her, he simply shut down and it was only by looking at the brooding tilt of his brows that she guessed he was upset.

"I am sorry I could not tell you these things before the Joining, Nathaniel. It is a necessary secret for the Grey Wardens. Most would not join, knowing how high the price is."

Nathaniel shrugged off her apology and struggled to stand up. Leonie offered a hand and he took it grudgingly. "Food will help, and I will have Anders, our healer, make a decoction of mint and pine bark." She slipped her arm around his waist and he settled against it. He was not light.

Nathaniel shuddered. "No decoctions," he said as they stumbled down the hallway. Leonie decided she needed to talk to Varel about adding more torches through the passageways. It was entirely too dark. She thought she may have missed a turn somewhere.

"Where are you going?" Nathaniel finally asked, a trace of impatience in his voice. And when he moved away from her and started backtracking Leonie pushed her embarrassed laughter back down her throat.

While Nathaniel was eating she sent a servant in search of Loghain and Anders. "Eat until you cannot stomach another bite and then eat more. You will be very hungry these first few days," she encouraged. "It is your body learning to accept the taint."

Nathaniel just nodded, his mouth too full to do more.

"When you are done, please come to my office. I believe it was your mother's sitting room at one time," Leonie instructed and winced mentally. This was going to be very awkward at times. Before it became even more awkward, she left him to his meal.

Was it possible, Leonie wondered briefly, to squeeze more hours ino a day? She had so many tasks to complete and so much paperwork to sift through. She wished, not for the first time, that Loghain would prove to be a bit less intractable. She would benefit, as would they all, from his experience at running an army and a terynir. She refused to ask until she was certain he would not snap her neck.

When she entered her office, it was to find Loghain already there, standing quietly at the bookshelf. He glanced over his shoulder at her approach and then went back to his perusal of the books. A servant was unpacking her crates and she couldn't help the gasp when she saw the portrait of Duncan leaning against the wall. Tears came quickly and just as quickly she wiped them away, glancing surreptitiously at Loghain to make sure he had not seen them. She felt sure he would be more than a little disgusted to see his new commanding officer bawling over a picture.

"Oooh, who's the pirate?" Anders asked, coming over to stand beside Leonie.

Loghain glanced around and caught sight of the portrait and frowned, his silky black brows drawn together.

"That's my Rivaini pirate," Leonie said quietly.

"Duncan," Loghain said with a hint of disdain at the same time.

Leonie's head jerked in his direction and Loghain met her gaze steadily enough, his face a controlled mask. It struck her forcibly once again that he was the man that many regarded as the murderer of all the Ferelden Wardens. She wanted to slap him and her fists curled tightly. She noticed his eyebrow was now arched and his face was a study of cool restraint. Obviously some of her animosity had shown in her expression. Leonie steeled herself, trying to mirror Loghain's expression.

Anders was watching the exchange with great interest. Leonie took a deep, steadying breath. She deliberately relaxed her fists. She could almost hear Duncan's gentle chiding. _"He's a brother, Lion."_

"So, this Rivaini pirate named Duncan, who is he?"

"My husband," Leonie replied softly, not taking her eyes off Loghain.

"Former Warden Commander of Ferelden," Loghain said once again at the same time but without the previous disdain.

Leonie took great pleasure in watching the color drain out of Loghain's face at her pronouncement.

"Married? You're married?" Anders asked with a great deal of surprise. "You sly woman," he added with a flirtatious grin.

"No, I _was _married. He died at Ostagar."

And now they were all uncomfortable. Anders was looking at the carpet with great interest. Loghain was even paler than normal and Leonie was trying to find her calm. She appeared to have lost it somewhere recently.

"I didn't think Wardens were allowed to marry," Loghain finally said, his voice curiously still. She was not able to discern any emotion at all in his expression.

Leonie didn't trust herself to speak. Anger and sorrow were grappling for the upper hand so she shrugged. And she was not about to explain that they were not married in a legal sense as she didn't think it was his business.

Finally she said as evenly as she could, "In Orlais many of the Wardens marry. Those loving bonds of family help strengthen us as we carry out our duty. It is not always easy for the families, but my parents showed me the importance of such things."

Anders looked from Loghain to Leonie and back again. "Well _this_ isn't awkward," he finally said with a boyish grin. "No, I mean it," he added with feigned sincerity. Leonie was surprised into a chuckle. The tension broke and she found she was able to breathe properly again.

"Then my purpose is served, yes?" Leonie flashed at him and moved to her desk. As she sat down, she glanced at Loghain and bit back another chuckle. He looked unsettled and seeing him thus made her relax even more. _It's nice to know some things got under that thick hide of his_.

Nathaniel entered and glanced around at them all, his eyes focusing on Loghain. He moved in that direction and Loghain's eyes widened slightly before narrowing again. He looked wary.

"Teryn Loghain, I hadn't thought to see you here," Nathaniel said formally and bowed slightly.

"Loghain. I'm a Warden now," the former teryn corrected quietly.

Nathaniel looked startled by that and Leonie watched carefully, but Nathaniel merely nodded and took an empty seat. She hoped the two men would talk, it might help Nathaniel come to terms with his father's actions. Or make him want to murder Loghain, she thought wryly.

The servant dismissed, Leonie began to explain the purpose of the meeting and she watched each person's reaction to her news of the Architect. Anders let out a low whistle and leaned forward, as if caught up by a great adventure tale, his eyes wide as he listened intently. Nathaniel's expression was a study of denial and disgust, as if he couldn't quite understand how such a creature could exist and therefore it couldn't, but he had yet to fight darkspawn and when he did, she suspected he would come to understand the true horror of the situation.

He knew. Somehow Loghain knew about the Architect even before she started her explanation. She saw the quick flame of recognition, swiftly extinguished in his eyes. He knew something and Leonie felt curiously relieved, but with an undercurrent of stark anger. If he had knowledge of the Architect why had he not understood the importance of the Wardens? And how had he acquired that knowledge? Duncan had not mentioned Loghain's presence in the Deep Roads when they first encountered the creature. Had Maric told him?

What she didn't tell them was about her last dream of the Architect, the one she had two nights before her departure from Val Royeaux…

_He was standing in a small room, looking at her with weary eyes. She held herself away from him, even as he bent over her._

"_I regret the death of Duncan, Leonie. It was never my intent." And his voice was soft, filled with a terrible sorrow. She knew then. _

"_You started the Blight, didn't you?" she accused, more horrified than angry._

"_I do what I must to free my kind. You understand that, Leonie. We are not so different." His voice had taken on a velvety smoothness, a whisper that slithered against her skin._

"_I'm coming for you. You will die for this," she vowed, her voice brittle and hard._

"_In time you will appreciate what I am doing, Leonie. Then we can work together, be together. I will wait for you," and to her horror it was the voice of a lover, drifting over her like a sensuous caress._

"_Never! I will never work with you! You will die by my hand, darkspawn, never doubt it!" she cried and woke up sobbing…_

"How does he communicate with you?" Anders asked and she blinked, her mind moving away from her dream to settle once again on the present.

"Those leading the research are not completely sure. They believe that the blood I took from the darkspawn, the one used in my Joining, was already corrupted by the Architect. It seems to have altered my own blood and taint but we have no idea how he enters my dreams. Unless he is now connected to the Fade and can find me there."

"Lovely. Your own personal darkspawn pet," Anders said with a shiver. "Just so you know I'm officially scared. Hold me?" he added with a grin.

Leonie rolled her eyes at him but his attitude made the ache between her shoulder blades ease. "Any other questions?" she asked the group and then added for Anders' benefit, "About the Architect."

She waited, giving each of the men time to form questions. What she had told them was improbable, almost incomprehensible and she knew from experience they were still processing information. She also waited to give Loghain time to explain how he knew of the Architect. He was silent.

"If there are no more questions, I want you to gather your weapons and meet me at the outside entrance to the cellars. Captain Garavel and Sergeant Maverlies believe that the darkspawn came from there, originally. Anders, stop by the infirmary and pick up poultices and potions," she instructed and then, almost as an afterthought, she glanced at Loghain. His expression was calm and guarded, much as always. An internal sigh that she almost allowed to become external.

"Nathaniel, I gave your armor and weapons to the armorsmith and his associate. I believe their names are Herren and Wade? They will have cleaned and repaired it by now."

Nathaniel bent his head slightly in her direction and she assumed that would be as close to a thanks as she would get. Another internal sigh. There were times when she truly missed the easy camaraderie and closeness of her Val Royeaux Wardens.

"You are dismissed," she finally said as the silence began to stretch into awkwardness.

"Oh, Loghain, a moment, if you please," she added and he shot her a raised eyebrow but sank back into his chair. She waited until the door was closed and then folded her hands with great care, resting them lightly on the desk. She was not entirely sure what she planned to say to him.

"Is this when you accuse me of murdering your husband? Of being a monster?" he asked and there was a savagery in his tone that startled her and put her on her guard.

She eyed him warily. Was that what she had planned to do? Was her anger and grief so transparent? She looked down at her hands and saw that she was absently playing with the ring, turning it slowly back and forth on her finger.

Leonie raised her head and met Loghain's eyes. In the space of several heartbeats she saw regret? Remorse? Guilt? Some indiscernible expression that caused her anger to bleed away. She stared back at her hands, searching for a way to break through the walls that separated them. Even removing one brick of that wall seemed a herculean task. She wasn't even sure she wanted to. Her anger at Loghain kept her focused, kept her from allowing the grief to overwhelm her. The internal war between what she knew was her duty and what she felt in her heart was as strong as ever. She rubbed her forehead, searching for the right words. The words that might help them both.

"History, my tutor once told me, is a river, continuously flowing from an unknown origin to an unknown destination. Trying to alter the path it has already traveled is like trying to alter the path of any river. Impossible. The trick, he explained, is to alter the path _ahead_ of its flow," Leonie said softly, and she felt the unwelcome sting of tears. She blinked them away, fighting the urge to put her head down on her desk and weep.

"You cannot go back and change what has already happened, Loghain, any more than I can. But we have a chance to alter our current path, our future path."

Silence again and Leonie reluctantly brought her eyes up and once again met his gaze. He was frowning slightly, a small furrow between his brows but she had no idea what he was thinking. She took a deep breath and plunged ahead.

"However, until and unless you let go of your hate for all things Orlesians, you will remain always trying to alter the path the river has already traveled."

"Do not presume to know me, girl," he ground out. Red spots of color rode his cheekbones.

Leonie's anger finally got the upper hand. She slammed her hand down on her desk and pushed her chair back, leaning over the desk. "Do not call me girl. I am your commanding officer! And you know very well that I speak the truth," she flared heatedly.

"And you think somehow this will be easy? To just let go of this hate?" he asked with a hint of derision, a touch of a scowl.

This time a sigh did escape and she sank back into her chair, anger overcome by weariness. "No, I do not think it will be easy. It is not easy for me to let go of my hate for you, but I understand that it is necessary. As I believe you know as well, yes?"

Loghain was silent and she supposed she should be grateful that he hadn't sneered or scoffed at her yet.

"I never saw him. I was too busy trying to protect my king. But we searched for him after Remille was dead. We searched the entire tower but he was gone. Maric told me about him," Loghain said quietly in answer and Leonie understood that something indefinable had changed between them.

They may never be friends but the hostility was at least bearable for the moment. She would have to accept it as a victory, however small it was for however long it lasted.


	4. Chapter 4

**Mastering the Dance**

"Nathaniel there is nothing I can say to prepare you for the look and stench of the darkspawn. You will feel them, sense them, through your blood eventually. It may be too soon for you to do so now, but if you feel a tickling sensation, just below your skin that will be darkspawn."

Nathaniel looked at Leonie with a knotted brow. "I'll do my best," he responded, irony wrapping his words. He seemed nervous at times and aloof at other times. Leonie couldn't help but wonder if it was having Loghain in their midst. It was obvious that he regarded Loghain with some respect, but also some apprehension. But perhaps it was just the threat of darkspawn that was causing his anxiousness. A first encounter with the creatures was unnerving. She continued issuing orders.

"You seem most comfortable with a bow so I will ask that you stay back with Anders and fight from range. Protect Anders and take out any casters that you see."

Nathaniel's grey eyes were as cool as a spring fed lake but he nodded once in understanding. At least he wasn't snapping at her anymore. That was progress.

"Anders, focus mainly on healing. If there are casters, use a paralyzing spell or sleep spell if you have it. Call out if you get into trouble."

Anders grinned. "_Any_ kind of trouble?" he asked, giving her a quick wink.

"Life threatening trouble. I shall have to guard my words very carefully around you, I think," Leonie retorted with a little huff of laughter.

She turned to Loghain. What could she possibly advise him on? Absolutely nothing. She would have to trust him if he was to become her second. Now seemed as good a time as any to begin. She hoped he would afford her the same courtesy, otherwise it would be an ugly fight in the close quarters of a cellar.

Surprising. There was no other way to describe how she felt. To see as hardened and unforgiving a man as Loghain kneeling before the Mabari with an almost tender gaze, gentling the dog with his voice took Leonie completely by surprise. She carefully schooled her face as he ministered to the dog and filed the image of his softened expression away in her brain. Perhaps it would help when she was so angry with him that she wanted to remove his sneer from his face with her fist.

He removed a note and without turning around, held it up to her as he continued to stroke the injured Mabari. She read it aloud and Nathaniel's face paled.

"We have to help her. She was more than just a mother to me," he said and there was anguish and fear in his voice.

"We shall do all we can," Leonie reassured but she saw Loghain's expression and knew he was thinking the same thing she was. Adria was probably already tainted and long beyond any help they could offer, except a quick and merciful death.

"Hand me your dagger," Loghain said softly. Leonie unsheathed it and handed it to him. His face was set in grim lines as he looked up at her and took the blade but, when he bent to his task, his voice was calm and gentle. "Sorry, girl," she heard him whisper before he quietly killed the dog.

Loghain stood up, his face once more a careful mask. They moved ahead, swords drawn. The tug, the painful pull of the darkspawn drew them forward. She glanced behind her at Anders and Nathaniel who wore identical expressions of discomfort. They were sensing darkspawn for the first time and Leonie almost chuckled at the look that passed between the two men.

"Five darkspawn in the next room, including an emissary. Be on the ready, Anders."

She felt Loghain's gaze on her, his eyebrow clearly quirking a question.

"Tainted for nearly ten years," she answered the silent query and she thought she might have caught a flicker of respect in Loghain's eyes. There and gone so quickly she couldn't be sure. Surely that was a step forward.

The fight was messy as Loghain and Leonie learned how to fight alongside one another. At one point she slipped on the blood and gore and in trying to right herself very nearly had her face sliced open by his sword as he swung it. His reach was longer than she had thought, longer than she was used to. It was only luck and the slippery floor that saved her as she threw herself forward and hit the ground. She heard his growl of disapproval as she scrambled to her feet. And there was a step back. Or two steps back. It was hard to tell with Loghain how many steps back she took at any one time. Her sigh never made it past her throat.

Nathaniel cried out when they found the room Adria had taken sanctuary in. The cobwebs hung as heavy as the tapestries in the throne room and the smell of darkspawn and death was suffocating. Leonie fought the sudden claustrophobia that descended on her like a shroud.

"Let me," Loghain whispered to her but she stayed his blade with a hand on his sword arm.

"Better it is me, yes? He is already angry with me and he shall need a friend after this," she replied just as softly. He was going to argue, she could tell from the way his body tensed but he nodded once reluctantly. And one step forward.

Nathaniel cried out, "Adria! Come, it's time to –" and then his voice trailed off as Adria turned to face him. "Help her!" he pleaded with Leonie.

They were much too late to help her. Adria was more ghoul than human, her silvery eyes no longer seeing more than her next meal.

"I am sorry, Nathaniel," Leonie murmured and moved forward. Adria did not go down gently. She fought fiercely but as the others dispatched the group of darkspawn that stood with Adria, Leonie found an opening and without hesitation, she plunged her sword through the tainted flesh of her neck. With a shriek that turned into a hiss and then fell silent, Adria collapsed.

Nathaniel dropped his bow and ran to the creature who had once meant more to him than his own flesh and blood mother. "No, Adria, no!" he cried softly, his voice raw with grief. He turned and the look he leveled on Leonie was full of venom and pain. She held his gaze steadily enough but it was a fight to maintain the eye contact, she felt herself shrinking inside herself, moving away from the moment. She was a commander and this was her duty. She watched as he sank beside Adria, reached out a hand to close her eyes.

"I am sorry, Nathaniel. The taint was already in control of her body. The Adria you knew was gone," she began and took a tentative step toward him but his face, so twisted by grief and anger, stopped her.

"You didn't even try," he ground out and then pushed himself onto his feet, moving to stand so close to her she could see the gold flecks in his grey eyes. Those grey eyes that were murderous and boring into her every bit as sharply as a finely honed blade. She represented everything he had lost and she saw it plainly enough in his eyes. Felt it in the unmistakable press of duty and regret and loss that wove around her heart and made it hard not to sink to the ground and weep. She straightened her shoulders and tilted her head slightly.

"You men go back and send Sergeant Maverlies and Voldrik down here. We need to find the entrance to the Deep Roads," she ordered, only a slight tremor in her voice that could easily be seens as the fatigue of the battle.

Silence and not a man moving. She hardened her expression and tone and added, "Now."

Loghain looked as if a protest was determined to find voice but he nodded once, a crisp move of his head and then spun on his heel, back rigid, and the others fell into step behind him. And there was the step back.

As soon as they moved beyond her sight, she sank onto the ground and closed her eyes, spent, as if they had taken the last of her strength with them. She would have to go through the bodies, loot what she could and she was not about to have the men witness that or, Maker forbid, help her with the grisly task. But the coffers were nearly empty and there was no other choice. After she discussed the collapse in the cellar with Voldrik, she went about the gruesome job of searching the bodies, feeling more grave robber than Grey Warden.

* * *

Nothing would please her more than to eat at her desk. This silence was at least peaceful, while the silence of her men was fraught with accusations and bitter acrimony and emotions she was simply too tired to think about. She set her quill aside and stared up at Duncan's portrait. "Help me be strong," she whispered and first one tear and then another burned a trail down her cheeks. Heart of a lion, indeed, she thought derisively. But scrubbing away the tears with her hands, she pushed back from her desk and made her way to the dining hall, not at all hungry and not at all happy about the prospect of the cold reception she was sure awaited her.

Anders looked up from his stew and grinned around a mouthful of food. A breath, held tightly in her chest, fluttered out in relief. She returned his grin with a slight smile, the best she could manage at the moment.

Dishing up a bowl of stew, she glanced up, through the veil of her lashes, to see that Loghain and Nathaniel were quietly eating. Somehow, though nothing was being said, she felt they had found some sort of common ground and the earlier hesitancy she had seen in Nathaniel when he was in Loghain's presence was gone. Another breath, held just as tightly in her chest as the first one, fluttered out. She brought the spoon to her lips and found she had an appetite after all.

"So tell me, are you really the Lion of Orlais?" Anders asked, leaning across the table to study her with a wicked smile. "You can tell me, I won't tell anyone," he added in a conspiratorial whisper.

She felt three pairs of eyes on her at his question and gave a wry laugh. "You will not have to tell anyone, Anders," she replied pointedly and went back to her stew.

"Oh come on, Commander Leonie, give us a hint at least," he implored, his grin bright and winsome.

Setting her spoon down and reaching for her mug of ale, she drank deeply. Finally, she set the mug down and met his dancing eyes. "Yes, I am the Lion of Orlais," she admitted with another wry laugh. "And it is not a glamorous tale, I assure you."

"Well, tell it and quit teasing us!" Anders urged.

Leonie glanced over at Loghain. "I hesitate to do so as it will only confirm Loghain's opinion of Orlesians," she said and there was a bit of a challenge in her words that she hadn't intended there to be. He quirked a brow in her direction but she began the tale, knowing that she may very well lose any ground she had gained. If he was going to be her second, he might as well know who she was.

"In Orlais, the nobility no longer have titles as they do in Ferelden. The only distinction they are given is through various labels that they earn through deeds and actions," she explained and for the next few minutes regaled them with the story of how she had become known as the Lion of Orlais.

Anders was laughing outright by the end of it and Nathaniel's hard scowl had softened considerably. Loghain's expression was almost unreadable but she thought she saw the briefest hint of a quirk of a smile before his face settled back into its habitual guarded detachment. Ah, a step forward.

"So you _were_ lost when you knocked on my door," Anders said with feigned disappointment.

"I was. I fear I shall get lost many times until I am familiar with the layout of the Vigil."

"She got lost again when we were going to the kitchen," Nathaniel added and the icy venom that had coated his earlier words had thawed just a bit.

"I was not lost, merely confused as to the direction I should take," she protested, reaching for her ale again. "I assure you there is a vast difference between lost and confused."

"What about the other rumors?" Anders asked, eagerly leaning forward again.

"Anders, not all rumors are true," she chided.

"The one about you killing a man with your teeth? Is that true?"

"She told me she had killed a man with her teeth when I threatened to kill her," Nathaniel said quietly. "I had no reason to doubt her."

Heads began swiveling as both Anders and Loghain switched their gaze from Nathaniel to Leonie and back again. Loghain was clearly angry. And a step back. Anders was astounded if his expression was anything to go by.

With a shrug, Leonie stood and said, "So there you have it, Anders. Two rumors and two truths."

As she made her way to the door, she turned. "Please be in my office at dawn tomorrow. I have spoken to the cook and she will ensure breakfast is served at that time."

With that, she made her way to her office and closed the door behind her. Sitting at her desk, she began to count and was surprised to reach twenty before the knock came. She had expected it to take far less time for Loghain to find her.

He was angry but the anger was already hidden behind a mask of cool disinterest. She could tell from his posture, held barely in check, that he disapproved of her decision regarding Nathaniel. Ah, she reflected, not certain whether to laugh or cry, another step back.

"Is there something you needed, Loghain?" she inquired and to her relief, her voice was even and cool.

"You conscripted a man who wants you dead? Who came here to kill you?" he asked and there was a hint of disbelief in his voice, an undercurrent of anger. "Do you really think that was a wise decision?"

Leonie was beginning to realize that his voice was like a fine wine. The first sip was crisp and cool but the undercurrents, the complexity and character of it were full of nuances and subtleties that one had to search carefully to find.

"That is an odd series of questions coming from a man who was conscripted by someone _he_ was trying to kill," she responded ironically.

"I have always thought that decision unwise," he replied finally and she detected a note of genuine confusion in his answer. A step forward, she thought.

"If Riordan suggested the idea, and I have no reason to believe he did not, then Surana would have been foolish to do otherwise. Good men are not those who are without flaws, Loghain. Good men are those with the heart to do what they must, no matter the consequences. Surely I do not have to tell _you_ that?"

Loghain looked as though he wanted to speak but he remained silent, his eyes intent on hers, as if searching for a hidden barb to her words. When the silence had stretched as far as her nerves would allow, she asked, "Is there anything else, Loghain?"

"No," he said and quietly left the room. And there was a step forward.

She thought she might be mastering the pattern of his dance.


	5. Chapter 5

_**A/N**__: A special thanks and huge hugs to icey cold for her creative mind. She helped shape Leonie's dream in this chapter and I appreciate it very much. _

**Brooding**

_The meadow was redolent of wildflowers, the wind as soft and breathy as a sigh. Beneath her a carpet of spring grass, above her the brilliant blue of a spring sky. She waited for his step, she knew it so well, her heart drumming a lover's beat, her skin flushed with need. _

"_It's about time you got here," she whispered, pulling him down to her. She held him close, breathing in his scent, leather and soap and that scent only he had of summer grass newly cut, the smell of sunshine and laughter and time together in the meadow by the creek._

"_I came as soon as I could, Lion. You aren't impatient are you?" he asked with a wry smile, sinking into her arms. She felt his lips, as warm as the sun, as soft as the breeze, skimming along her neck and she moaned softly, flooded with heat and desire. _

_Tangling her fingers in his hair, guiding him to first one breast and then the other, she gasped as his beard, gliding along her tender flesh, silky and soft, caused that slow, molten flow of her blood to spiral out. Her hands played along the hard muscles of his shoulders and she kissed the dark warmth of his skin. He rolled over, bringing her with him. _

"_I love you, my Rivaini pirate," she whispered against his ear, trailing kisses down his neck and winging them across his chest and lower, down his flat stomach and lower still to tickle and tease as he growled for more, low in his throat, the sound that always aroused her passion. She prowled along the length of his body, all tongue and lips and teeth until his hands were urgent on her hips. He opened his eyes and met her own heated gaze as she slowly lowered herself onto him, sitting up and then leaning back so he could fill her more completely and with a slow, steady rhythm, she moved her hips. He groaned and his hips bucked against her, demanding more and she smiled languorously, slowing her rhythm, swaying like a leaf caught in the gentle breeze. _

_His eyes widened and he called out, "Lion!" as his hips continued to buck and his shuddering climax emptied into her. She bent down, tugging at his lip with her teeth. "I love you," she said again, breathing the promise in his ear. "I love you," she said again, catching his lips with her own, grinding her hips against him. _

_He rolled them back over and she could feel he was already getting hard again. She closed her eyes, bringing her legs up to wrap around his waist. He was growing inside her, hard and hot. She opened her eyes and his eyes, lidded and heavy with desire, met hers. "I love you, Lion," he said solemnly. _

_She closed her eyes as he began to thrust into her, violent and hard and fast. The air, so sharply sweet with wildflowers began to change, began to take on the smell of death and despair, of darkspawn and taint and broken promises. Her eyes flew open and it was no longer Duncan, but the Architect, who hovered over her, eyes closed in ecstasy. _

"_Yes," he whispered, his voice seductive and caressing._

_Her screams died silently in her throat. _

* * *

Loghain's long legs were stretched toward the fire, his head back. The day had proven long and every muscle told him age was his enemy and he was losing the battle. He glanced at the book, half forgotten on the arm of the small sofa that faced his equally small fireplace. He had read the same page several times and it had yet to make an impression. He rubbed at the back of his neck, yawning, picked up the book and set it down again.

She was an enigma. A complete mystery to him. One minute a commanding officer wise beyond her years and the next a young girl, laughing at the mage's banter and then a woman whose grief was heavy in her voice. Yet she hadn't condemned him, hadn't exploded with the anger he saw flashing in her eyes. Why? Maker knew he deserved it. He had killed her husband and even knowing that, she had not vented her anger and grief on him. While a great relief, it was also a great mystery.

Loghain picked up his book and reread the same page before setting it down again. One thing he had come to understand about her was that when she was upset her accent became thicker. It was then that his teeth would begin to ache, when her origins were so obvious and glaring. It was much easier on his nerves when she was calm and soft spoken, when he could almost hear a Fereldan speaking.

And was it a Grey Warden thing, giving gifts to people? Surana had done it, finding special presents that he handed out with great pleasure to his companions. He had given Loghain several very impressive maps and at first Loghain had felt compelled to refuse them, wary and suspicious. Gifts did not come without a price. Unless, he thought snidely as he reached for his book again, they were from a Grey Warden apparently.

He had been looking out at the courtyard from his window when he'd seen her give Anders a kitten. A kitten? What kind of practicality was there in a kitten? And that was one of the things that confounded him. All business one minute and then giving a kitten away to a man who fought darkspawn for a living. What kind of sense was there in that?

Even earlier, when she had finally made her way out of the cellar, she'd held a beautifully crafted bow in her hands. He had been talking to Voldrik about repairs when he'd seen her out of the corner of his eye. He'd watched with some surprise as she brought it to Herren and Wade and asked to have it repaired. And somehow he had found his way to her, to examine the bow. Or so he had told himself.

"A gift for Nathaniel. I believe that is the Howe crest on it, yes? He is sadly in need of a new bow," she had explained to him, looking up at him with a wry smile. Yet despite the smile she had looked a bit lost for a minute and he found himself wanting to escape because the look reminded him very much of Celia just before she would start crying. A moment of genuine panic had stirred in him at that thought of her crying.

"I do not think he will accept it from me, but perhaps if you gave it to him?" she had asked hopefully and he'd immediately shaken his head.

"I will not. You found it, you give it to him," he'd replied tersely and turned on his heel and left, not entirely sure why he was suddenly angry.

Yes, an enigma, that one. And then Loghain felt the sudden urge to chuckle overtake him. She had nearly broken her neck, slipping and sliding during battle, finally throwing herself on the ground in a move that was so reminiscent of Maric in his early days that he'd had to turn his chuckle into a growl to prevent it from escaping. How could she be so efficient and graceful in battle one minute and then be sprawled on the ground all awkward arms and legs the next?

Confounding, frustrating and no easier to understand than any other woman who'd ever been in his life. But that wasn't right. She wasn't a _woman_ in his life. She was the Commander of the Grey of Ferelden. His commander. Nothing more. And he was still not happy to be under her command, he reminded himself grimly. He had commanded for thirty years and there had been times during the day that he had wanted to yank the reins of command out of her hands and take control. He wasn't sure it was being under her command that bothered him, so much as being under anyone's command. And that gave him a moment's pause because he had felt no small amount of relief when he'd finally relinquished the responsibilities and duties he'd carried for so long.

He picked up his book, rubbing that back of his neck again, feeling the light tug of a headache coming on.

Tainted for nearly ten years? How old had she been when she took her Joining? She looked younger than Anora. _And that's enough about my commander_. He quietly closed the book and stood up as his stomach growled. He made his way to the kitchen.

And there, of course, sitting at the long table, a mug in her hand, was his commander. He wondered how odd it would look if he turned around and went back to his room. Before he had a chance she looked up, frowning.

"Loghain, what are you doing up at this hour?"

Well that wasn't the friendliest greeting he'd ever received but not the worst by far. "Apparently being a Grey Warden involves eating frequently," he replied dryly.

"And nightmares. We are certainly a fun group, are we not?"

He noticed that her face was unusually pale and the reference to nightmares made him ask, "Is that why you're up at this hour? Nightmares?"

She indicated a heavy piece of vellum with a sketch on it. Loghain quirked a brow as he took the sketch up and studied it.

"That is the infamous Architect. The cause of my nightmare."

There was an odd quality to her voice and though he wasn't the most adept at such things, he would say it was brittle.

"Maric described him as a darkspawn emissary. Are they two different creatures?"

He watched as she stood up, mug in hand, and went to a tea kettle set close to the hearth.

"It is Orlesian but quite good tea, if you wish to have some," she remarked and turned an inquiring gaze in his direction.

His inclination was to refuse, it was Orlesian and that alone was enough to make his muscles tighten. Oddly, he heard himself accept her offer. He sat down as she found another mug and filled them both. Coming back to the table, she set them down, before bringing out a plate and filling it with cheese and grapes and some doughy rolls. He saw the actions for what they were, she was nervous. He waited for her to sit down and reached for a roll, arching a brow at her. To his disappointment, the tea was flavorful, thick with cinnamon and something he couldn't identify.

"The Architect has been evolving, becoming more human in appearance. There are many theories but only three that make sense. One is that he wants to be human. The other is that he wants to understand humans better, to further his aim of freeing his brothers. Duncan told me that the Architect was puzzled by how we act and interact. He does not understand why we act as we do. He does not understand us and he cannot accomplish his goal until he does."

He couldn't fail to notice how softly she spoke his name. He wondered briefly if anyone had ever spoken _his_ name with such tenderness. And then he studied her sketch. He frowned.

"Bregen managed to cut off one of the Architect's hands. Yet you show he has both hands. How is that?"

She shrugged, her glance sliding away from his.

"And don't try the standard Grey Warden secrets line. I've heard it all before," he warned with a surprising amount of heat in his voice, wrapped in bitterness.

Her eyes snapped back to glare at him. The quiet air between them changed, flickering and snapping. "You know everything that is important to know," she responded with a matching heat in her words.

Loghain would never claim to be a diplomat. That had become abundantly clear during the Blight when he had managed to alienate those who could have stood with him, had plunged his country into civil war.

"You say that but it's _my_ country that's in danger at the moment, not Orlais," he snarled.

Her fist banged on the table, her face twisting. "This is now _my_ country as well, Loghain. Do you think I would put it in harm's way? Do you still have some petty notion that because I am a woman and Orlesian I must therefore be a bard, a spy? Have you yet to realize that Duncan's many trips to Orlais were not to report to the empress but to be with me?"

She stood up so quickly that her chair fell over, the noise reverberating in the sudden silence, her anger radiating from her. Even he, obtuse man that he was, could understand and recognize that emotion.

"Ah, here it comes. I wondered when you would finally accuse me of murder," he growled.

"Andraste's grace, you are a stubborn man! I am not accusing you of anything more than refusing to see who your allies are because of a hatred that blinds you."

"This tired argument, again. I have every reason to hate Orlais and absolutely no reason to trust Orlesians," he snapped coldly. His mild headache had mushroomed into a throbbing pain between his eyes.

She leaned across the table at him and he was forced to lean back. "I. Am. A. Grey. Warden," she began, sounding it out as if he were a simpleton who might not comprehend what she was saying. "I am not Orlesian. I am not here on behalf of the Orlesians. I am not here to avenge Duncan's death," she continued in quieter tones. He was grateful for that at least.

"I am here as the Commander of the Grey of Ferelden. As such my primary concern is to fight darkspawn here in this country. I am loyal to the Grey Wardens and those people who fall under my care. That is my duty and one I will fulfill. Is that clear enough for you? Do you wish me to write it all out and sign and affirm that this is so?" she asked sarcastically.

He was at a loss for words. She may be a Grey Warden but by birth she was Orlesian and she had spent six years in Empress Celene's court. He couldn't just rid himself of a lifetime of hate and hostility simply because she told him to.

"You weren't alive during the occupation and you have never been under the thumb of another nation so don't presume to tell me what I can feel or think," he ground out.

The fight drained from her and she set her chair upright before sitting down and reaching for her tea. "You are quite right, Loghain, I did not live under the occupation of your country. But do not suppose for a moment that I do not understand oppression. You do not wish me to presume to tell you what you can feel or think and I ask that you do not presume that you know who I am or what I have been through."

Silence, welcomed by Loghain, settled between them. He took a long drink of his tea and reached for a handful of grapes, content to eat in peace. He didn't look at her, studying the contents of his mug. He couldn't imagine she had been through as much as she claimed but he couldn't deny that there was a world weariness in her that spoke of hardships.

"So tell me," he began in a quieter voice, "what is the third theory about the Architect?"

"This might take some time. Do you want another cup of tea?" she asked in an equally quieter voice. He nodded once and she refilled their mugs.

"My taint is different than yours, different than other Grey Wardens. You would not be able to discern such a difference. Duncan and Riordan never could and they had been tainted far longer than you have been. I can sense it, naturally, but there have only been two other Grey Wardens who could sense that difference as well. One is Fiona and I believe it is because she went through a quickening and survived an early Calling. The other was Tremain, the previous First Warden."

"Was? He's no longer able to or he went on his Calling?" Loghain asked.

"His Calling came much too soon. You see, they were experimenting with my blood, to find out why I had these dreams when they discovered that my taint was different. Tremain saw that the taint had slowed, that I was going to live longer than the average and he…" she trailed off and he could see the sudden emotion in her face, thought with a sense of dread that she might cry but after a deep breath, she continued.

"They needed a test subject, someone to try the new Joining using my blood and he took it upon himself to test it. It did not slow his taint. It sped it up."

Loghain wasn't sure what he thought about that. He could understand the importance of finding a way to slow down the taint's progress, strategically that made sense. The longer a Warden lived, the more darkspawn would die. But using her blood to do so?

"You still haven't told me your theory," he reminded her quietly.

"I am a fifth generation Warden. There have only been two others, according to Weisshaupt records. One died during the fourth Blight, fighting with Garahel. The other went on his Calling over thirty years ago. I have wondered if perhaps the Architect is that Warden. If there is something that passes through the generations that makes our blood different to begin with. What if he became the Architect but was once human and his desire is not to make other darkspawn sentient, but to find more of his kind?"

"And you think you are his kind?" Loghain asked, wanting to disbelieve her theory but not able to. There was a logic there that's implication was horrifying.

She shrugged and he was learning that her shrug was an attempt to gather her thoughts and emotions before speaking.

"I have considered that possibility, or his belief that I am of his kind, even if I am not." She looked down at her hands and then back up to him, her eyes dark and troubled.

"The other possibility is that he is a product of evolution or an accident and he truly wishes nothing more than to free his darkspawn brethren. That is my hope, of course. I do not want to think of becoming like him."

"No I don't imagine so," Loghain agreed, draining his mug. "So what is it that you dreamt about tonight that had you looking so unsettled?"

"He came to me in my dream in the guise of Duncan," she began and he saw color sweep across her cheeks as she lowered her eyes.

"Ah," he said only and waited.

"I am very much afraid that he wants me as a mate of some sort, a broodmother for a new hybrid, one that is part human, part darkspawn."

And there was absolutely nothing he could think of to say to that.


	6. Chapter 6

**Unexpected Gifts**

Rubbing the grit from her eyes, Leonie looked up from her desk to see Anders and Nathaniel standing at her door. "Come in, men. If my door is open, you are welcome," Leonie said, smiling.

Nathaniel seemed more rested and his face more relaxed, the tight grimness around his mouth and eyes softened by a good night's sleep. He eyed Anders and his kitten warily and found the only chair in her office that was off by itself. She hid a smile and Anders shook his head, feigning sadness before plunking down in the chair nearest her desk.

"Thank you again, Fearless Leader," he said cheerfully.

"If you are thanking me for the kitten, I would request as a thank you that you find a different name. Ser Pounce-A-Lot? I thought you had more flair than that," she chided with a grin.

"Hey, he can hear you, you know. There, Ser Pounce, don't listen to her. She's just jealous because her name is Lion," he cooed at the orange fur ball snuggled on his lap.

"That is absolutely the reason," Leonie agreed and was surprised by the snort that emanated from Nathaniel's area of the room. She couldn't tell if it was one of amusement or derision but it was at least a sign that he was becoming more engaged in his surroundings.

"As soon as Loghain is here, we will start the meeting. In the meantime, help yourself to some breakfast. The apple turnovers are quite good."

She glanced over at the door again and wondered where Loghain was. They had stayed up late talking about the Architect but surely he could manage to pull himself out of bed on time. She wanted to rub her head, where the pulse in her temple was beginning to beat in answer to her impatience but she stood up and poured herself some tea instead.

There had been times when they were talking that she had almost enjoyed his company as an equal. There had been other times when she had been sorely tempted to slap the sneer right off his face. She still felt torn about naming him as her second. She didn't expect blind obedience from her second, but she did expect that he respect her authority. She and Loghain were not there yet and, as she tapped impatiently on her desk waiting for him, she wondered if they ever would be.

Varel entered and brought with him a stack of letters and bills. She groaned. "Varel, if you insist on bringing me so much paperwork each day I will have to insist on a much larger desk and perhaps a vacation," she chided, softening it with a grin and he bowed slightly, hiding a ghost of a smile.

He was a good man, an honorable man and she found she quite liked him for all that he occasionally made a biting comment about Orlais or Orlesians. She understood he had fought in the rebellion and he still carried scars. As long as it didn't get out of hand, she would bear with it, knowing without him the place would fall down around her head. She appreciated his dry commentary on the arling and his knowledge of its people.

"As you wish, Commander," he answered in his deep, scratchy voice. "And Mistress Woolsey requests a moment of you time."

"Ah. Well if it is to ask for funds, I have spent the last of my own on the repairs to the Vigil's outer walls so she will be asking the wrong person. I have sent a message to the Commander of the Grey of Orlais for assistance and I hope it will arrive within the next three weeks."

It was at that moment Loghain finally entered the room and he immediately turned a frown in her direction. She looked expectantly at him, bracing herself for a cutting remark on Orlesians assisting Fereldans but he sat down in a chair and said nothing. She was glad she had not anticipated an apology from him for his tardiness as he seemed disinclined to offer one. Refraining from letting out a sigh, Leonie merely returned to the papers on her desk, now organized into four large stacks.

"Perhaps when our coffers are overflowing, I will hire an assistant. Or perhaps just have a larger fireplace built in here, one big enough to accommodate all this paperwork, yes?"

Varel choked on a snicker and with another half bow he left the room, closing the door softly behind him.

"I suggest that you eat your fill this morning as we leave for Amaranthine in two hours. I need to find Kristoff. He may have information on the whereabouts of the Architect. There is also a member of the merchant guild that has information on attacks that have stymied the progress of trade in the arling."

She paused, waiting for comments or questions, or in Loghain's case, disapproval. When none were forthcoming, she continued. "Anders, before we depart, please make a quick inventory of the supplies in the infirmary. Take note of anything that requires immediate restock."

"Of course, Lion," he agreed with a grin. Leonie raised a brow at him. "I meant _Commander_ Lion, of course," he corrected with no look of remorse at all. Yet she couldn't be angry with him. She found she had missed being called by her nickname, especially now that she no longer felt the need to cry when she heard it.

"Nathaniel, if you would, please stop by and see Wade? Or is it Herren? One of them will have a bow for you. I found it in the cellar yesterday and it appears to have the Howe crest on it. I assume it is one of the things you had hoped to discover when you returned to the Vigil." His acknowledgement was a nod.

"We will, no doubt, be called upon to assist the people of the arling during our travels and we will help when time allows, but only when time allows," she concluded and dismissed them. Loghain didn't leave with the others and Leonie felt a moment's disappointment.

After the door was shut behind the others, she looked at Loghain, waiting. He looked older this morning. His face was drawn and smudges of fatigue seemed to be taking up permanent residence under his eyes. He had, no doubt, slept as poorly as she had last night.

"Was there something you needed, Loghain?" she finally asked after several moments of silence.

"You don't have to loot," he began and she frowned.

She most certainly did if they were going to eat and opened her mouth to angrily tell him so when he spoke again.

"I will do it," he finished quietly and her mouth snapped shut in surprise. That was unexpected. A gift that she accepted gratefully.

"I – thank you, Loghain. I will have to tell the others, I suppose, but I do not know if they will understand the necessity."

"Yes," he said shortly, as if he already regretted his gesture and stood up, quitting the room in three long strides.

She rubbed at her temples as soon as the door closed behind him with a rather sharp snap. It would be another long day it seemed.

As she gathered her pack and weapons, Anders approached her, looking sheepish.

"Yes, Anders?" she asked, sheathing her dagger.

"I – uh – well, that is to say…" he began and trailed off.

"Out with it, Anders. It is not like you to be at a loss for words," she ordered, softening the words with a quick smile.

"I don't have a pack. Or supplies for that matter," he muttered, looking oddly embarrassed and she found it utterly endearing to see him thus.

"Speak with Varel. There are several kits and packs in the supply room and he can outfit you with anything you need," she reassured and his grin returned.

"Thanks, Commander Lion," he said and then waited for her to comment on his use of her nickname. When she didn't, he grinned and went in search of Varel.

As she stood on the steps overlooking the courtyard, she watched the men below her. Her men. And yet she felt as distant from them as if they were complete strangers. She supposed they still were in many regards. Time would hopefully close that distance. She was not used to the coolness between them all, she was used to the boisterous camaraderie of the Orlesian Wardens, who truly saw all other Wardens as part of a larger family, aided by their own inherent enjoyment of touching and expressing their emotions. Fereldans seemed to hold themselves aloof, independent of each other as if being close or showing emotions was some kind of weakness not to be tolerated.

Nathaniel was talking with unusual animation, holding the bow out for Loghain to examine. The lines in Loghain's face relaxed and for a moment Leonie thought he might actually smile but instead he nodded and reached for the bow, testing its weight before handing it back. Anders was struggling to find a place for his kitten, removing and rearranging the gear in his pack. Nathaniel reached over and picked up several discarded items and placed them in his own pack. Anders shot a grin over his shoulder at the man and slid Ser Pounce-A-Lot into the empty space.

They were all at least forming a bond and that would have to be enough for now, Leonie thought but not without a bit of longing. She was homesick and the only way to cure it, she knew, was to allow the passage of time to ease the pain and to begin to form bonds in her new home. She knew forming such a bond with Anders would be easy, he seemed so ready to accept anyone into his life, but the others would not be so easy.

She shouldered her pack and started down the stairs when she saw an older man, an elf, come up to Nathaniel. Even from her spot, she could hear the man's effusive and heartfelt greeting.

"Little Nate, is that you? Oh son, it's good to see you!"

Little Nate? _Little_? The man, while not as tall as Anders or Loghain, was tall enough and broad of shoulders, with strongly muscled arms and slim through the hips. He had the grace and build of an archer and the word 'little' was not something that came to mind when looking at the dark haired man. She bit back a smile and watched as Nate turned to look at Loghain, a smile erasing the furrowed brows. She heard that he was asking Loghain something, though she couldn't hear the words. Loghain began to respond and stopped, looking up at her, before speaking quietly to Nathaniel. Now that they knew she was there, she made her way towards them.

Nathaniel turned to her and with some urgency explained that his sister was in Amaranthine and not dead as he had believed, requesting permission to look for her while they were in the city.

"Of course, Nathaniel. Let us be off," she said and began down the curving slope of the road.

It was a good day for walking. A mild, temperate day. Wispy clouds scudded along beneath a gray ceiling of thicker clouds that hinted at a storm by nightfall. The sea scented wind was light and cool on her face and she found a measure of calm in the feel of the open road before her.

Three hours of relative peace and quiet later, they entered the city's outskirts and Leonie found herself wondering who the people of the city would whisper about more, the new Orlesian Arlessa and Commander or the hero turned traitor turned hero. She thought it would be the latter. She glanced at Loghain, who seemed rather tense as they passed under the arch of the gate only to be stopped by a soldier who demanded to search their belongings. Loghain's face went from tense to angry.

"Why would you need to do that?" he asked with a dangerous calm in his voice. The soldier, recognizing the Hero of River Dane and Ferelden, became tongue tied and flustered.

Leonie stepped forward. "It is fine, Loghain. Let him search. He is merely following orders," she said quietly. Loghain stiffened and stepped back, causing Leonie to swallow the sigh that whispered up her throat demanding release.

"Thank you," the soldier said gratefully as she handed him her pack. Another man moved quickly to the soldier's side. "What are you doing? Don't you know who that is? He's the Hero of Ferelden and the new Warden Commander!" the man scolded.

Well this isn't uncomfortable, Leonie thought wryly. She heard Anders snicker and she felt very close to it herself. Loghain was now looking somewhat flustered.

"_She_ is the Warden Commander," he finally said and his voice was not entirely friendly. In fact, he sounded very cool.

"I am Warden Commander Leonie," she agreed, nodding her head slightly. "And you are?"

"Constable Aidan. I apologize for the misunderstanding," the man added, his face a rather mottled red.

"Why do you feel compelled to search our belongings?" she enquired, reaching for her pack.

"Smugglers. They have a death grip on supplies here. Many folk are going without because of them," he explained and the mottled red darkened.

"Ah. You do not have enough men to find these smugglers?"

"No, Commander. Nor enough funds for more soldiers," he answered and there was a note of resentment in his voice, an accusation leveled at the Arlessa of Amaranthine.

"I will do what I can to help with this problem and if I can find the funds, you shall have more men. I cannot guarantee when that will happen, however. "

Why the Queen of Ferelden had deemed it necessary to give the Wardens an arling instead of merely small compounds around Ferelden was not only a mystery to Leonie but a source of irritation and aggravation. Obviously Rendon Howe had stripped the arling of all its funds to pay for his schemes. A replacement of such funds from the current ruler would have helped a great deal.

When they reached the market, a crowded and noisy place, sadly in need of repairs like much of the arling, Nathaniel immediately discovered his sister, a tall, dark haired beauty with a radiant smile. When he asked permission to go off for a proper visit, she was more than willing to send him on his way. It was good to see him smiling and more relaxed. Perhaps there was yet hope that they might find common ground to walk upon.

"Loghain, please seek out Mervis, the man from the merchant's guild. See what he can tell us about the darkspawn attacks on the trade caravans," she instructed and Loghain, looking irritated, moved off. No doubt he did not enjoy being given menial tasks. He would have to learn to accept that there would be more, Leonie thought wryly, realizing the dance between them continued and would do so for some time to come.

"Anders, find the apothecary and order supplies for the infirmary. Woolsey has set up an account with him but do not spend more than three sovereigns. Our coffers are not flush at the moment."

"Aye aye, Commander Lion," he said with a saucy grin and went off. Leonie set the pack down in front a merchant's stall and began selling the items she had found in the cellar. Loghain returned as she was doing so and he bent to help her retrieve the items.

"You should keep that dagger. It looks well balanced," he remarked in a not entirely unfriendly manner. Apparently he had forgiven him for sending him on a task he felt beneath him, she thought snidely but accepted his help.

"I have no need. Celene's Tongue was crafted for my hand," she explained, patting the hilt of her dagger.

Loghain chuckled. A deep rumble. She was surprised but kept her face turned away, sure he would be offended if he saw that surprise.

"No doubt it's very sharp," he remarked dryly.

"And barbed," she agreed with a smile and for the briefest moment, there was an accord between them. No doubt it would not last long but for now it felt like an unexpected gift.

When Anders returned, they made their way to the Chantry, twenty sovereigns richer. As they approached the building, Loghain's steps slowed and she cast a quick glance at him. His face was tight and his expression guarded. She followed his gaze and saw an older woman with short silver hair pulled tightly into a pony tail. The woman was looking at Loghain with an expression on her face very similar to his.

"You know this person?" Leonie asked quietly.

"I do. She traveled with us, was with us when the Archdemon was slain," he answered somewhat reluctantly.

"Is she the one mentioned in the reports? Wynne, I believe?" Leonie queried and Loghain nodded silently. His demeanor was cooler, more distant and she was sure he would not like what she was about to do but she refused to let that deter her.

Leonie stepped forward and smiled at the older woman. "I am Commander Leonie. I believe you are Wynne, yes?"

The woman's eyes met hers and the smile she gave Leonie was kind. "I am child, and you must be Duncan's Leo?"

Leonie's eyes stung and tears formed, the raw wound of grief flaring. "You knew Duncan?" she asked and the tears she was trying to keep from falling disobeyed her and began to slide down her cheeks.

Damn her weakness, she thought bitterly and moved away from her men. The older woman placed a warm hand on her arm and gently guided her to a bench some distance away from the others.

"He was a fine man. It was a privilege to know him," Wynne said, patting her arm softly.

"I miss him greatly," Leonie confessed and the tears began in earnest.

She heard Anders say cheerily, "Oh look, a tavern. Come on, let's get some lunch, Loghain."

That was an unexpected gift as her tears continued to slip down her cheeks and drop from her chin. She knew she should be stronger, especially in front of the others but somehow she seemed unable to stop the flow.

Wynne put her arms around her and it was so comforting to have someone touch her. She hadn't realized just how much she relied on the warmth of human contact until Wynne reminded her.

That comfort, that touch, was the most unexpected gift of all.


	7. Chapter 7

**A Lion's Pride**

There was no graceful way to pretend she had not broken down in front of her men. Leonie knew her eyes were red and her nose most likely was as well. She had sat on that bench for an hour, talking and crying with the older woman. Wynne had given her a glimpse of Duncan as he was seen through another's eyes, about the life he led here that she knew so little about and it was one more picture to put away in her heart, to be taken out and enjoyed on the long nights when sleep eluded her.

She shifted and straightened her shoulders before opening the door and stepping into the Crown and Lion. She decided ignoring the entire episode really was the best course to take. Hopefully her men would do the same.

Loghain was seated at a table with a view of the entire room, as well as the door. A habit that they shared, she realized. And it was disconcerting to know they had _anything_ in common.

He glanced at her and then away but so quickly she could not interpret his expression. Anders, with his back to the door, turned and waved at her, motioning for her to join them. She weaved through the few tables that crowded the small taproom and sat down in the chair between the two men. There was a plate of meat pies on the table and two mugs of frothy ale. Anders slid his mug over to her.

"This'll help," he whispered sagely, but not all that quietly, and she shook her head at him. Discretion was apparently not anything he was adept at, but she knew he meant well so she lifted it and, with a quick salute to him, brought it to her lips, drinking greedily. Her tears had had left her thirsty and hungry, but she felt a bit more at peace.

"Thank you, Anders. I was parched."

They sat in silence for a few minutes as Leonie munched on the meat pie, a surprisingly delicious creation of flaky crust and thick slabs of beef and potatoes. She had expected lamb, or rather the mutton that Fereldans called lamb. "I think I could manage a dozen of these," she said, savoring the last bite.

"A little thing like you?" Anders teased with a hint of a wolfish grin. She gave him a raised eyebrow, which he ignored. She was a warrior and though not large, neither was she little. She thought he must flirt out of long habit, that it was an automatic response to a woman in his presence. The Orlesian women would love him. Empress Celene would make him a court favorite. She didn't tell Anders that, afraid he would run off.

Loghain remained silent and was probably not happy to be sitting in a tavern when there was work to be done. "Loghain, you are unusually quiet. Is there something that is on your mind?" she asked him finally, as Anders made his way to the bar for another mug of ale.

He looked at her then and there was something in the look he gave her that made her sad, somehow. He looked tired and his mouth was set in a tight line but there was more, in the depths of his wintry eyes, something she could not quite decipher.

"Mervis believes the problems with the trade caravans are darkspawn attacks in the Wending Wood. I suggest we investigate as soon as possible," he said, trying to sidestepping her inquiry.

"That is useful information but hardly answers my question," Leonie replied, refusing to let him do so.

"You never asked me why Surana made the killing blow. Why is that?" he asked and there was that same quality in his voice that she had seen in his eyes but could not define.

"Is this question because I made mention of it that first night? Why, exactly, would I ask such a thing? Surana was, in fact, the senior Warden after Riordan. It was his obligation to make the killing blow," she answered. "Would it make you feel better if I yelled at you?" she continued, curious.

Why had he brought the subject up? What bearing did it have now? Was there some remorse he felt? Did his conscience bother him because he had survived? She could certainly understand it if that was the case. She had felt that herself, and had seen others suffer from the same thing. She just found it difficult to believe he might be feeling it. She mentally chastised herself. He had feelings just as everyone else did. It was her own anger at him, her own prickly pride at his constant disapproval that made her feel otherwise.

Loghain made a sound that she assumed was a derisive snort but wasn't sure and before he could say anything further, Anders returned with a fresh mug of ale.

Leonie, giving up on any further insight into Loghain's odd mood, stood up and made her way to the barkeep. After a brief discussion on why an Orlesian was the Warden Commander of Ferelden when Loghain was a Warden _and_ a Fereldan, he gave her the key to Kristoff's room. She wondered how often she would have to explain that and there was a resentment growing in her because she had to.

The others watched as she climbed the narrow, rickety stairs and found Kristoff's room. He obviously had not been there recently, and his kit and pack were gone. She sank down on the bed, staring at the large map adorning one wall.

"Where are you Kristoff? What have you discovered that made you travel without another Warden?"

"I don't suppose he'll answer," Loghain said with a hint of humor in his voice.

"Would that he could."

Leonie stood up and went to the map, studying it with a frown. "All other areas are marked with an 'x' so I assume he is in the area with the 'o'. Would you not agree?"

Loghain moved to stand beside her and he too frowned. "So it would seem. The Blackmarsh."

"The Blackmarsh? They say it's haunted," Nathaniel remarked quietly, coming into the room. Leonie glanced over her shoulder and then had trouble keeping her mouth from falling open.

The man spoke with Nathaniel's voice but he hardly resembled the brooding young man who'd gone to find his sister. There was a lightness about him, a distinct shift in the patterns of his facial muscles. She realized what it was, as she turned more fully to face him. The strain of holding his emotions so tightly within himself, his anger and bitterness and grief, his uncertainty, had lessened. He returned her gaze and while not warm and friendly, it was no longer dark and venomous. She was not foolish enough to think he would overcome his grief and anger in one visit with his sister but it had obviously helped in a measurable way. She could almost hear the tightly wound coil in him slowly unwinding.

She turned back to survey the room again. Was that Kristoff's journal? She moved to pick it up. Thumbing through the journal, she felt a frisson of fear. His last entry mentioned a talking darkspawn and monsters resembling worms with legs. He had decided to investigate immediately.

"Haunted or not, we will have to investigate. We will also have to investigate the Wending Wood. And I have yet to find Colbert to discuss the odd chasm he discovered. That sounds like a part of the Deep Roads have caved in," Leonie said and even she could hear the slight tremble in her voice. Loghain shot her a look, a question in the quirk of his brow. Silently she handed him the journal.

"Loghain, if you will, take the map with you. I will look through his personal effects and then be down in a moment," she instructed quietly. Kristoff was strong and smart and she could only hope he was safe. She had to believe he was safe.

Nathaniel moved to the door and then stopped. "I can unlock that trunk for you, Commander," he offered and even his voice had changed, a hint of warmth, a lessening of the cold and bitter notes.

"Yes, thank you Nathaniel. I would appreciate that."

He nodded once and moved to the trunk, removing his lock pick tools. In a matter of seconds she heard the click of a lock releasing and then Nathaniel stood in the fluid movement of a man used to stealth, that same grace of movement that Riordan had.

"Commander, I – I wanted to thank you for allowing me the visit with Delilah," he said softly and there was a frown there, as if he wanted to say more, but then he turned and left the room.

It was finding the locket with Aura's miniature in it that almost reduced her to tears, but she was determined not to cry, not to show that weakness to her men again. She slipped the locket carefully into her pack and then she read the letter and her heart fluttered as a brief stab of panic hit her. Aura would be at the Vigil any day. She did not want to have to tell the woman her husband was missing. Or worse. With a steadying breath, she slipped the letter in beside the locket and with a final glance around the room, she locked the door behind her.

They were waiting outside the Crown and Lion for her and she briskly set off to find Colbert. Loghain walked beside her and his presence was calming and oddly reassuring. She wasn't sure what to think about that and now was not the time to try and sort it out.

As they were searching the city for Colbert, she heard Anders' quick intake of breath and he called out to an elven woman with short light hair and an annoyed countenance. "Namaya?"

The elf came up to Anders and there was a brief moment when Leonie was sure the woman was going to punch Anders but she poked him in the chest as she spoke, each word punctuated by another poke. She was a very angry woman and Leonie was both amused and curious as Anders tried to placate her. She tried not to listen to the conversation but it wasn't easy. Loghain looked more than mildly uncomfortable as he stood there and Nathaniel was plucking at his bracers, hiding a trace of a smile.

When Leonie heard the word phylactery, she finally took notice. "Here? Your phylactery is here?"

Anders was rubbing the spot on his chest, no doubt sore from the elf's jabbing, as he watched the woman stalk away. "Yes, they moved most of them during the Blight. She said it was in a warehouse near the market district. Could we…" he trailed off and she nodded once.

"Loghain, you are with us. Nathaniel, find Colbert. He travels with an elf named Micah I believe. He has knowledge of a Deep Roads cave in."

Nathaniel nodded and went off in search of the men. "Now, let us find this warehouse."

Loghain was not happy. It radiated off him in waves of displeasure and disapproval. Nothing, she thought grimly, was ever easy with the man. "At some point, you will tell me what it is I have done to anger you, yes?" she inquired wryly as they entered the market area.

"This is neither the time nor the place," he replied with a hint of frost.

She stiffened and tilted her chin a bit. She would not let him see the anger his words caused her. She was fatigued by the dance of theirs, that stepping forward enough for her to begin to lower her guard, only to raise it again because he was snippy or snide over something she had done that he disapproved of.

The warehouse was easy enough to find and Leonie was immediately suspicious that there were no guards protecting the alleged phylacteries stored within.

"My, we're lucky," Anders said, surveying the room with a grin.

"Do not believe it, Anders. They will not have left such a precious cache without guards."

"At least we can agree on that," Loghain reflected, removing his shield and sword. Leonie unsheathed her weapons, wondering momentarily if skewering the man would give her any satisfaction at all. She decided it would but the repercussions were not worth it.

"Anders, you are to stay back. If there are templars here, they will drain you before you cast a spell."

Of course he didn't listen. As she and Loghain suspected, the templar with the shrill voice was there with two other templars.

"I believe I told you that Anders was a Warden and that should you continue to harass him you would deal with me and it would not go in your favor, yes?"

The woman stepped forward, a mask of disgust and contempt. "You have no authority here, Orlesian," she hissed and with a sigh, Leonie raised her sword.

"So be it," she replied.

Anders went down with a thud as the nearest templar hit him with a holy smite, draining his mana.

Rylock was not going to stand down without a fight and she fought fiercely. Leonie had a difficult time gaining the upper hand, ducking and dodging, parrying and blocking. Finally, she kicked out at Rylock, who stumbled back and lowered her shield in her surprise. It was all the opening Leonie needed and she thrust her blade into the woman's eye, the only lethal target available to Leonie. With a cry broken off by death, the templar crumpled. Leonie was sweating and her left arm was numb where the templar's shield had caught it earlier. Somewhere in amongst the bodies was her dagger, knocked free by that same shield sweep.

Loghain had easily dispatched the woman's two companions but it was apparent to all of them that the phylacteries were not there. It was a trap, nothing more.

"I am sorry, Anders," she said softly and reached out to grasp his arm, patting it gently. He gave her a lopsided half smile. He was clearly disappointed but he tried valiantly to hide it.

"At least you stood up for me. I don't see _that_ every day," he replied finally and his smile righted itself.

"Of course I did. We are Grey Wardens, Anders. We defend each other, protect each other. We are family," she assured him with a nod.

"I –I guess we are, aren't we?" And then he gave her a sassy grin. "Family. Hmmm, I like the sound of that," he added and there was a suggestive leer in his smile. She shook her head.

"As in brothers and sisters," she emphasized and he feigned disappointment.

"Now, I need to find Constable Aidan unless either of you has a suggestion as to how we can hide three templar bodies?"

Loghain was cleaning his sword on one of them templar's robes. He stared around the large warehouse and then made his way to several large, empty crates. "Put the bodies in here and arrange to have the crates sent to Vigil's Keep," he answered and without waiting for a reply, began to drag one of the bodies to the crates.

Naturally he would take for granted her willingness to fall in with the plan. And while it was a good plan, she resented his assumption. With another internal sigh, which she was getting quiet good at, she began pulling the second body along the same path that Loghain had taken.

"Anders, look around and find something to clean up all this blood. There is no sense in trying to hide the bodies only to leave a trail of blood behind. And once the bodies are in the crates, freeze them with the strongest spell you have. Otherwise the smell will give our secret away."

It took them some time to finish and then clean themselves up. When they made their way out of the warehouse, she found some men who were more than willing to cart the crates to the Vigil for a few sovereigns. Once arrangements were made, they went in search of Nathaniel, who had indeed found Colbert and Micah. He relayed the information and now they would need to add a place called Knotwood Hills to their growing list of places to investigate.

The hint of rain promised that morning arrived with a vengeance as they walked back to the Vigil. They were drenched and the dirt road became a quagmire. Anders fussed about his robes being wet and muddy. Nothing was ever as easy as it should be, she thought glumly as they squished their way home through the muck and the mire.

Nathaniel tried to say something but they were all so busy trying to maintain their footing that he finally gave up. "We will talk when we are warm and dry, yes?" Leonie told him encouragingly and then she found herself slipping and sliding again. She would have ended up ingloriously floundering face first in the mud but Loghain reached out a gauntleted hand and righted her. She thought she might have heard him snort in amusement. Her chin rose. She would not be laughed at and she shot him a glare. His eyes were on the road ahead and her glare was wasted.

When they arrived, sodden and tired, Varel met them. "Commander, your vassals are beginning to arrive to swear their fealty to the new arlessa. I have assigned them rooms in the east wing."

No, Leonie thought in dismay, nothing was ever easy.

"As you can see, I am in no shape to meet with anyone at the moment, Varel. How long before they have all arrived?" Leonie asked as she pushed her tired legs up the steps to the main doors.

"Tomorrow, I would imagine."

"Have the cooks prepare our dinner and have it sent to my office in one hour. Have the vassals use the main dining hall. Arrange for a banquet tomorrow evening," she instructed as she moved to the main staircase. Varel was nodding.

"Do not let them wander all over the keep. If they take issue with that, explain that there may still be darkspawn in the area and it is for their safety."

"Yes, Commander."

"And Varel," she said, dropping her voice, "several large crates will be arriving early tomorrow morning, marked for the Commander of the Grey of Ferelden. I want them burned. Do not open them, just burn them. Is that understood?"

Varel's iron grey eyebrows rose at that but he said only, "As you say, Commander."

"Varel, I do not suppose there is any chance you might call me Leonie?"

Varel gifted her with a slight smile. "No, Commander, I don't suppose there is," he agreed with his quiet humor and went to carry out her instructions.

Vassals pledging oaths of fealties to an Orlesian? Tomorrow's banquet ought to be ever so much fun, Leonie thought and her glum mood deepened.

After a quick bath, Leonie slipped into her Grey Warden tunic and trousers before making her way back down to her office. Nathaniel, also bathed and in dry clothes was sitting in a chair waiting for her and stood up as soon as she entered, his dark hair still damp . His grey eyes seemed somehow warmer and she decided it might be the lack of daggers shooting out of them in her direction.

"Nathaniel?" she asked, motioning for him to sit down as she did the same. She smiled at him, waiting.

"Commander, I wanted to thank you for finding the bow," he began, his voice stiff but not unfriendly.

"It belongs in your hands, the enchantment told me that. She is a lovely piece of craftsmanship."

Nathaniel gave her a curious look and she shrugged. "In Orlais such weapons are referred to as women because they are beautifully made," she explained and felt herself blush. Would she have to explain herself for the rest of her tenure in Ferelden? She tilted her chin up a bit.

Nathaniel gave her a hint of a smile and nodded. He looked down at his hands and then back up. "I have blamed you for something I shouldn't have. After talking to Loghain and Delilah, I think I misjudged you."

Loghain? What words would he have spoken to Nathaniel? She would probably never know so only Leonie smiled gently. She could tell his declaration was costing him no small amount of difficulty. "I understand, Nathaniel. You had no idea what had happened in your absence," she assured him warmly. "We will have to start fresh, yes?"

He nodded and stood up, looking strangely shy. "Thank you," he said sincerely and left. There was a lot more under that surface calm of his, but for now, she was content to let him talk in his own time.

She heard a noise and looking up, she found that Loghain was there and this time her internal sigh was gusty and loud and external. She was tired. She was hungry. She ached. Her arm throbbed. "Yes, Loghain?"

There was a pause and she waited, steeling herself for his biting remarks, whatever they were, but whatever she was expecting, it was not the words that fell from his lips. She had expected to be blasted, frozen or raked over coals by the anger that he had not voiced earlier. She was braced for that.

"A little less pride would do you no harm," he said with cool intent. "You insisted on taking on the templars when Nathaniel and I could have handled the situation quite easily while you went in search of Colbert. As the Commander of the Grey, and an Orlesian, you can ill afford to antagonize the locals. You need to be a bit more circumspect and trust your men more. People are looking for you to be arrogant and prideful. No sense in obliging them."

Leonie wanted to laugh at the irony of his words. _He_ was calling her on the carpet for _her_ pride? _Her _arrogance?

"And I noticed you are still favoring your arm. You are no good in a fight if your arm is injured," he continued, blithely unaware of her growing ire or his complete blindness to his own arrogance and pride.

She cut him off with a wave of her hand, her left hand, as if to show him that his words were of no consequence, that her arm was fine. She winced at the stab of pain it caused. He chuckled as he left her office.

She would never understand him. He would never be easy to understand. And the notion that he thought she had too much pride when he was the personification of pride was enough to make _her_ chuckle.

He was right, she acknowledged as she made her way to Anders' room, but she would be Maker damned if she would admit any such a thing to him.

.


	8. Chapter 8

**Surprises**

Cup of tea in hand, Leonie sat on the parapet on the eastern rampart, watching for dawn's arrival. The sky was a milky gray with a hint of gold where the sun was beginning to stir. The world was hushed, still dreaming of what the day would bring. She tilted her head and listened as the first bird heralded the sun's impending arrival. It was cool and the air was clean, smelling faintly of pine and sea. She felt relaxed and for a moment, she was not homesick.

"Good morning, Nathaniel. You are awake early," she said into the stillness.

Nathaniel came and sat beside her, long legs folded. "How did you know it was me?" he asked curiously.

"The taint in your blood. Loghain's is different as his taint is older. And I can smell when Anders approaches, he is quite distinctive. It is the soap he uses, Orlesian sandalwood soap, if I am not mistaken."

She heard him chuckle lightly. "So I can't really sneak up on you and kill you."

Leonie laughed. "Oh I suppose you could, should you be so inclined. Are you planning such a deed?"

"Not at the moment, no," he answered solemnly.

Leonie shot him a glance and saw the hint of humor in his expression, surprising a laugh out of her. "Well then I suppose I shall breathe easier."

"Tonight won't be easy for you. Many of my _father's_ friends will be ruthless," he warned in that quiet way of his. She noticed the venom once reserved for her was now directed at his father and she felt a pang of sorrow for him. The illusion of a hero shattered by truth was a painful experience, but she was pleasantly surprised that he offered her his insight. A fragile bond was forming between them and she hoped to see it strengthen in the coming months.

"Yes, I suspect they will be out for my blood, or at the very least, my downfall. They will watch me for the least little mistake and pounce on it like greedy children who find unexpected sweets," she agreed with a long, heartfelt sigh.

"I have a request, Commander," he began and there was that oddly shy note in his voice. Or perhaps it was not shyness, but a reluctance to ask for anything, to be beholden to someone.

"Yes?" she asked, waiting patiently as he formed his request. It took several moments.

"My grandfather, Padric Howe, was a Grey Warden. We weren't allowed to mention his name when I was growing up, my father hated that he deserted my grandmother. I'd like to know what happened to him and Loghain thought you might have contacts who could tell me."

Leonie felt surprise for the second time during their conversation. She had not expected that request at all, she'd had no idea that he had a member of his family in the Wardens.

"I know the archivist at Weisshaupt where the records of all Wardens are kept. I can send off a request today. It will take months before we get a reply, but I am most happy to do this, Nathaniel."

She stood up and grinned. "And now is the time to write the request, before Varel is awake and demanding I play arlessa," she added conspiratorially.

Before they left, Nathaniel stopped. "Is that a fire?" he asked, fear making his voice low and hard He was pointing to the southwest.

Leonie followed the direction and saw that the grey dawn sky was tinged a blood red. Her heart began to pound.

"What is in that direction?" she asked quietly, striving for calm.

"Goodwife Turnoble's farm is the only thing that close," he said, already moving to the steps that led down.

"Wake Anders and meet me in the courtyard!" she instructed. "Go!" she added sharply as he stopped to look in the direction of the fire again.

Long moments later, she was in her armor and pounding on Loghain's door. He answered it looking irritated and sleep worn. "Yes, what is it?" he asked irritably but then he saw her expression and nodded, shutting the door.

They met in the courtyard ten minutes later and Nathaniel led them to the southwest, moving at a brisk clip. The sun rose as they walked and the haze of blood red in the sky turned to an orange. It was silly to believe they might actually do any good but they continued onward.

As they cut across the landscape, she began to feel the tug in her blood. Darkspawn, and a large party, close to twenty by her reckoning. And then she felt the familiar headache at the back of her head.

"There are eighteen or twenty, as well as an ogre," she said quietly and the men drew their weapons.

Drawing her sword and dagger, Leonie continued forward, taking in the scene. The fields were burning, the barn had already burned in on itself, a collapsed, smoldering ruin. The outbuildings were burning. And the darkspawn were waiting. Her eyes stung from the smoke in the air.

Leonie followed behind Loghain, his shield raised against a volley of arrows. As soon as she saw an opening, Leonie moved forward, slashing into the genlock and he went down with little more than a gurgle. Working their way through them, she realized this was the scouting party, the main group was still slightly ahead of them and that's where the ogre was as well.

"There is an emissary in the group, be prepared Anders," she whispered and then fought back the urge to laugh at herself. Of course the darkspawn were already sensing them as well. There was no reason to whisper.

"Loghain, try to draw the others to you when I go after the ogre," she added, not waiting for his response.

"Now!" she yelled, surging forward and heading straight for the massive ogre now lowering his head and shoulders in preparation for a charge. At the last moment, she swung wide and the ogre's momentum carried him forward, throwing him off balance. She swung around and was already launching herself at his back before he could regain his footing. Leaping up, she sank her sword and dagger deep into the corded muscles of his back, twisting them. She was hanging on as best she could when he roared and stamped, trying to dislodge her. His blood, black and foul with taint, was running freely and Leonie was fighting to keep from losing her grip on them. She pulled out her sword and dagger, sliding down his back and rolling away. He bellowed again and was already on his way to her by the time she was finally back on her feet and she stood and readied her weapons.

He was weaker, the loss of blood slowing him but he continued forward, swinging his hands in deadly arcs. She ducked, narrowly missing a blow from his powerful fist and then again, as his other fist swung at her. Her breath was shallow and she could feel the sticky dampness of sweat and fear coursing down her back but, with a deeply indrawn breath, she launched herself once more at him. His fist opened and he batted at her, catching her mid leap and sent her hurtling away to land in with a bone jarring thump. She cried out sharply when she hit, more in surprise than pain, but there was pain there, slamming into her body. Her vision clouded and turned red along the periphery, her breath escaping in a long hiss. She could hear herself groaning and panting but she couldn't seem to move for a moment. The ogre was already reaching for her again, moving with lethal intent. She staggered to her feet, grabbing her weapons and heard a whimper, realized it was coming from her.

She held her weapons out, grimly determined to stop the ogre one way or the other and then Loghain was there, taunting and swiping and the ogre roared once more, looking at Loghain and it was the break Leonie needed. Crouching low and digging her heels into the hard dirt, she pushed off, running straight at the Ogre and when she had enough momentum, she launched herself straight at his heart, felt the resistance in her sword arm as it cut through the ogre's tough skin, past the thick muscle and sinew, and into his heart. She twisted her blades, screaming as pain lanced through her side and arm and then she was falling with the ogre who hit the ground with an earth moving crash. She felt herself flung away as he hit the ground and she landed not far away, spent, as her breath was once again knocked out of her.

"You bloody fool!" Loghain snarled furiously at her, bending down. The thought of his anger was unappealing so she let the dark red haze surround her and sank into its mist with a sigh.

Leonie was vaguely aware of voices, murmurs and whispers that made no sense to her at all. She blinked. Her breastplate was missing and she groaned, trying to sit up. Every nerve, every muscle, every breath she took, protested.

"Don't move, Commander. Not until I get these ribs settled," Anders instructed and she could feel his healing magic then, moving through her body, feel bone shifting, and she closed her eyes again as the pain receded. He wrapped a bandage tightly around and admonished her to move slowly. As if she had a choice. Her body wasn't very happy with her.

"Loghain? Nathaniel?" she whispered, eyes still closed.

"Fine, they're fine. You were the only one crazy enough to try and dance with an ogre," he assured, and there was hint of anger in his voice as well. Leonie sighed softly.

"There is a reason we kill ogres first, Anders. And a reason we do it the way we do," she began but sighed again, deeply now, as the sharp pain that had prevented deep breaths earlier was gone. "Thank you," she added softly. He nodded and the anger in his face shifted into a small smile.

"I'd like to know why you launched yourself at him like a bloody lunatic," Loghain said and there was still a good deal of heat in his voice. She was fairly certain a thanks and a smile would not ease it as it had done with Anders.

Leonie rolled her head in his direction and tried to glare at him but she found it hurt so she stopped trying. "When you have been tainted long enough, you'll find they give you a headache. It's because they are sending out for help when they roar. It attracts any other darkspawn in the area to help in the fight," she paused and took the waterskin that Anders offered her. He helped raise her head and she drank deeply. Of course she dribbled it down her chin like a two year old child. Lovely, she thought wryly as Anders wiped her mouth.

"Some Wardens believe they are sending out a signal telepathically, through their taint and that is what gives us the headache, but there is no way to know for certain."

She closed her eyes again for a minute and then took another deep breath. She hurt all over. She thanked the Maker there was no dancing planned after the banquet that evening. She continued, "The sooner they die, the less chance of reinforcements arriving. Did Riordan not tell you this?" she asked impatiently. Riordan was thorough, how could he have not mentioned that?

Loghain didn't answer and she felt sure that Riordan probably had told him but he was too busy hating Orlesians to listen. She was surprised that a man of his military prowess had been so completely unprepared to deal with a Blight, even after he had been conscripted.

"We must ensure that the killing blow is through the heart or the brain, otherwise they are merely dormant and can regenerate health at an alarming rate, be back on their feet fighting in minutes. I have seen that happen. They are not happy when they get back up, I assure you."

Loghain looked slightly mollified. At least he wasn't yelling at her. She was grateful for small mercies.

"You need to hold classes about this kind of stuff," Anders complained, sitting back on his heels.

Leonie finally tried to sit up again and found she actually could. "Yes, with all the extra time I have," she agreed dryly.

Nathaniel and Loghain started moving the bodies, placing the darkspawn beside the ogre. When they were done, Anders cast a huge fireball at the pile and she covered her mouth and nose for a minute against the stench of the tainted flesh.

Goodwife Turnoble and her family were placed near the farmhouse and Leonie knelt beside them.

"_Though all before me is shadow, yet shall the Maker be my guide. I shall not be left to wander the drifting roads of the beyond. For there is no darkness in the Maker's Light and nothing he has wrought shall be lost_," she whispered and nodded to Anders. They too went up in flames.

She stood up and gathered her dagger and sword. "I'm sorry," she whispered before turning and beginning the long walk back to the Vigil.

It was a blessedly quiet journey and every step was painful for Leonie. She was responsible for all the people in the arling and she had already failed a family whose only crime was to be decent, hardworking folk. Her whole body ached with each step, even her hair seemed to hurt. Anders had assured her that there were no broken bones, aside from her ribs, just a large amount of bruising, a few shallow cuts.

"Don't," Loghain said quietly, matching his normally long strides to her small, shuffling ones. Her legs ached, her head ached, she wanted to soak in a hot tub. And she was surprised by the sudden wave of homesickness that assailed her, the depth of grief she felt, missing Duncan, who always had the right words for her when she needed them.

"Don't what?" she asked without looking at him. She kept her eyes focused on the road ahead of her, taking small, measured breaths. It was the only way to keep the tears from falling.

"Don't start down that path of self recrimination, the what ifs. No good comes from it," he answered and his voice was grim.

"Ah, you have a plan then, to make the guilt go away? Or do you not ever feel guilt?" she asked, her voice thin and tired.

"You'd like to believe that, I'm sure," he responded stiffly and there was a note of pain in his voice that surprised and confused her.

She had a picture in her head, a vision, of who Loghain Mac Tir was. She saw him as ruthless and cold and embittered. He had a short temper and a sarcastic bite to his voice. He was not this man walking beside her, trying to make her feel better through shared experiences. He was not this man walking beside her who spoke with an ache of remembered regret.

"I am sorry, Loghain. That was unkind and uncalled for," she finally said, feeling small and mean.

Loghain made a sound in his throat and Leonie wasn't sure what was meant by it, but he stayed beside her until they entered the gates of the Vigil. "And keep those ribs wrapped tonight. The nobles don't need to see you wince every time you breathe," he added dryly and then disappeared into the keep.

* * *

At least she didn't need to wear a corset under her dress, the bandages were so tightly wound around her midriff. She was grateful enough for that. Leonie smoothed imaginary wrinkles out of the red dress she was wearing. It was a simple gown, of thick soft wool, with gold braid piping on the cuffs and a matching braided golden girdle that wrapped around her waist and hung in two long ropes down the front o fher gown and she wore no jewelry and no other adornments, except the ring Duncan had given her. It would not do to look Orlesian, to act Orlesian tonight. The less she reminded the nobles of her nationality, the more likely they were to at least listen to her, even though she spoke with an Orlesian accent.

She ran her fingers through her hair and wondered when she had last cut it. Sometime before she left Val Royeaux. She reached down for her scissors and then stopped, looking at her reflection in the mirror. Tears began to form and she brushed them aside impatiently with the backs of her hands.

"I love you Duncan. I miss you with each breath I take," she whispered and sighed, putting the scissors down, before picking them up again and then putting them down once more. It was time to come out of mourning, she knew. But somehow she felt traitorous doing so. She ran her fingers through her hair again and then, picking up the scissors, she put them in a drawer.

Her men were all in formal dress and they all looked remarkably human and completely different. It put them all in a new light and she wasn't sure how she felt about that.

Nathaniel was looking a bit pale and nervous so she made her way to him. "You are not your father," she reassured and smiled up at him. He gave her a nod and tried to smile but it came out as a grimace. She wanted to touch him, to let him know he was not alone but she kept her hands clasped in front of her.

"Oh, I have sent the request to Weisshaupt for your grandfather's records," she said and it was only then that a smile slowly crept across his features. He really was quite attractive when he relaxed, she decided.

"Wow, you scrub up pretty," Anders enthused, coming to stand beside her. He was grinning as he surveyed the room full of nobles who had come to pledge their loyalty to her. To the arling, not to her, she reminded herself. Why was a Grey Warden an arlessa? She needed to write Magnus and let him know that she was not happy about it, not that it would do her any good.

"Please, Anders, be on your very best behavior tonight," she warned quietly.

"Of course, Warden Commander Leonie," he assured her with a roguish smile.

Loghain was talking to Varel, who was nodding and they both glanced at her. What was that about, she wondered, moving toward them, but they moved off in different directions before she could reach them, to her disappointment. She eyed Loghain warily but he merely returned her gaze with one of his own inscrutable looks.

Before she quite had her nerves steady, Varel was standing at the front of the room, announcing her arrival and her mouth was so dry she was sure it would stick to the roof of her mouth if she tried to speak. She felt a wave of panic assail her and she had a strong desire to run out the door and just keep running until she hit Orlais.

"Speak softly and slowly. Your accent isn't as pronounced," Loghain instructed her and she almost jumped to see him suddenly beside her. Her heart was trying to beat its way out of her chest. She wondered if fainting would lower her already low standing with the nobles. She suspected it might. Slowly. She needed to speak slowly and softly. She would be surprised if she could speak at all.

She didn't hear what Varel was saying and was shocked when, en masse, the nobles present bowed before her. That seemed a bit extreme but she bade them rise, saying, "We have many differences, I know, but we all share common goals, the well being and success for all within the arling," she began and fought to keep the tremor and her accent under control.

"Many of you might wonder why Loghain Mac Tir is present tonight. I confess, he was bound for Orlais but I felt his presence here, his insights, would be of great benefit to the arling and am therefore making him my second," she concluded, sweeping her arm to indicate Loghain.

No one looking at him would detect surprise but she could tell from the flare of his nostrils and the arch of his brow he very much was surprised.

In fact, he was almost as surprised as she was by the announcement.

**A/N:** _The words Leonie speaks over the bodies of the Turnobles are taken directly from the Canticles of Trials. Bioware and David Gaider own them. They own much more than I could ever hope to own. _


	9. Chapter 9

_**Noblesse Oblige**_

Leonie decided that it was more painful sitting than standing. Her ribs ached, her lungs didn't seem to be able to get enough breath in them and she was constantly fighting the urge to squirm in her chair in discomfort. She pushed her food around on her plate, wondering how long before everyone was finished and she could just go to bed and sleep.

There was a steady hum of conversation flowing around her and she found herself in a discussion about horseflesh with a man she thought was Lord Haldor who was from a small farmhold southeast of the keep but she couldn't be sure. She had met so many people it made her head swim. She wanted to gulp her wine and just float but she picked up her water goblet instead. She knew all too well that wine was not a drink to be gulped.

Haldor finally turned to the woman on his left, Lady Morag, who seemed to be watching Ser Guy rather closely, a small frown marring her otherwise perfect features. Leonie took the time to let her gaze wander, thankful for the respite as the man on her other side was busy shoveling food into his mouth at a rate that would make a Warden proud.

She saw that Anders was seated next to a striking blonde, Ser Tamra, and they seemed to be enjoying each other's company. Leonie could only pray that Anders did behave himself, as she had asked him to. She hoped he had listened to her speech about the importance of respect for the Wardens in Amaranthine, which could, she had said sternly, lead to the establishment of other compounds within Ferelden. Loghain had not been present for that discussion but it was one she wanted to have with him as well, since he was the prideful, paranoid man who had prevented it during Duncan's tenure as Warden Commander of the Grey of Ferelden. She wasn't looking forward to that conversation, but have it she would.

Nathaniel looked miserable. He was sitting next to Bann Esmerelle, near the end of the table. She seemed to be talking to him quite earnestly and he was looking more and more withdrawn. The woman was pinch faced and trying too hard to hold back the ravages of time, making her look ridiculous and much older than she probably was. And, Leonie thought with a snide twist of her thoughts, the woman was wearing an Orlesian silk gown that was by no means flattering to her sagging breasts and widening girth. She caught Nathaniel's eye and gave him a quick wink, trying to reassure him that they would adjourn soon. He ducked his head and went back to his discussion. She would be very interested to hear what they were saying. Varel had told her that Bann Esmerelle was a very, very close friend of Rendon Howe's. She did not want to know how close.

Her gaze wandered to the opposite end of the long table, where Loghain was seated and in a quiet discussion with Lord Eddlebrek. As if feeling her gaze on him, he glanced at her, quirking a brow. She quickly lowered her eyes. Somehow she felt embarrassed as if she had trespassed on a private moment, which was absurd since they were in a dining hall full of people. She felt off balance and unsure of herself at times and that made her more than a little cautious around him, which she hated about herself because she was not, by nature, a particularly cautious person. When she finally managed to look in his direction again, he was once more deep in discussion with Lord Eddlebrek.

When the last of the meal was cleared, she stood and announced brandy and sweetmeats would be served in the throne room and with a polite smile, took Lord Haldor's proffered arm, trying not to wince as her sore muscles nagged at her to stop moving.

The crackling fire and soft flickering lights from the torches brought a warmth to the throne room that was often lacking. She glanced quickly to make sure the portrait of Nathaniel's mother had been removed. He had not been at all happy to see it and she could understand why. The woman had a cold, unforgiving look about her, an aloof, reproachful smile. Though the composition was quite fine, it was apparent that the same could not be said of the subject. Poor Nathaniel. When she thought of her own happy childhood and loving parents, she could not help but feel badly for any child who had not had the same. And it was becoming apparent that Nathaniel had not.

A tall beefy fellow with sandy blonde hair came weaving up to her and she could immediately sense the animosity in his overbearing attitude. She found herself tensing up, coiling muscles that she might have to use if things got out of hand. She really hoped they didn't. Well into his cups, Ser Guy suddenly spoke to her, his voice loud and belligerent. "So you are the _Orlesian_ who lords over us now."

Leonie had been talking to a young woman who was interested in the Grey Wardens and she stopped mid-sentence and looked up at the man, a smile curving her lips, though her heart was less inclined to do so. The entire room seemed to be silent, watching her reaction. The young woman she had been talking to disappeared into the crowd.

"I am the _Grey Warden _who has come to help rebuild the Ferelden Wardens," she said softly, keeping her smile in place and consciously keeping her hands still and quiet at her sides.

"My father didn't kick the Chevalier's arses out of Ferelden just to have our lands handed over to some new Orlesian lickspittle," he replied querulously, moving his face so close to Leonie's that she could smell the alcohol oozing from his pores as he sweat. Her stomach did a queasy flip flop and she waged an internal battle not to lose her temper and box the man's ears. She doubted Loghain would approve.

"Not all Orlesians are lickspittles, Ser Guy, any more than all Fereldans are backwater hayseeds. It is these very misconceptions that prevent true understanding and forgiveness, yes? Without either, we are doomed to relive past mistakes, are we not?" she asked, her Orlesian accent rich and full. Loghain was no doubt cringing now. She was so angry she was unable to control it and she took a perverse pleasure in just how Orlesian she sounded at the moment.

"I - I suppose," he finally mumbled and unable to find anything else insulting to say, he stumbled off, completely unarmed verbally. Lady Morag looked at Leonie and there was fear in her eyes. Leonie smiled reassuringly at the woman. Did she think Leonie would cut his head off right there and then? Is that how Fereldans did things? She wondered just how much of Rendon Howe's reputation was based on truth.

She saw Loghain moving toward her but Varel reached her first. "Deftly done," he whispered with respect in his voice. "Do you wish him punished? It is your right."

Leonie smiled again, this time a genuine smile and shook her head. "Let the man sleep it off. His words may have been insulting, but they are just words, yes?" She could hear the sigh of relief from several people in the crowd.

Loghain was there, studying her. "Backwater hayseeds?" he asked quietly with a hint of a smile.

"I am not all that good at creative insults on the spur of the moment. I suppose with practice I might become more adept," she responded and sighed softly. "Are you offering your assistance?" she asked with a flash of a smile.

"You obviously need the help and I've been told I'm quite good in that area," he returned and Leonie was surprised into a chuckle, followed by a wince as her ribs protested.

"I imagine slinking off to my room is not yet possible?"

"No, I don't imagine it is," he agreed and while the smile was a bit more pronounced, it was still more of a hint than a reality. He moved away, to speak to Lady Liza. Today seemed to be more steps forward and less steps backward and she wasn't entirely sure how she felt about that.

"A word, Warden Commander?" a young woman asked and Leonie nodded, her thoughts slinking into the dark, unexamined. She leaned slightly forward to hear the soft spoken woman. Ser Tamra, the one Anders had fixated on during dinner. Please, Maker, don't let it be a complaint about Anders and his forward behavior, she silently prayed.

"You are in danger, and I fear I may be now as well, but you need to know that there is a conspiracy against you, a deadly one. I don't have names yet, but you need to be prepared," the young woman whispered urgently. "They mean to kill you."

Leonie nodded, smiling again, as if they were speaking of Orlesian gowns or the weather and not her imminent death. "If you can find these names for me, it will help greatly but do not put yourself at risk to do so. Those who do not fear killing a Grey Warden and arlessa will have even less compunction about killing you," she instructed gravely, her smile still in place.

"Yes, Warden Commander," Ser Tamra said and with a slight inclination of her head, she moved off to join a small knot of people, including Lady Liza.

As Leonie made her way over to Varel, standing impassively on the steps that led to the dais, she was stopped again, this time by a distinguished silver haired man who had a kind manner and voice. "I would ask, Warden Commander, what you intend to do about the farmers who are under attack, whose livelihoods are at stake."

"Lord Eddlebrek," she said with a slight inclination of her head. "I intend to place as many soldiers as possible out on patrols, of course. We cannot win a war if we are starving, yes? However, I must ask," she continued softly, "what it is you are doing for the protection of those farmers?"

"I – I am doing all I can," he began to bluster and she raised a hand to stop him.

"Goodwife Turnoble and her family were killed this morning by darkspawn. There were no guards there that we found, no help of any kind, not even from the neighboring farmholds. It surprises me that a man of your wealth and influence has no mercenaries or private soldiers, nor has he contributed to the recruitment of additional soldiers here at the Vigil," she ended, her voice intent and her gaze cool. "Even training the farmers to fight, to form a militia of sorts, would be of some benefit to the farmers, would it not?"

Before he could respond, Bann Esmerelle was standing there, her pinched face tight and full of disdain, whether for Leonie or Eddlebrek she wasn't certain.

"We must focus on the city of Amaranthine and not the farms. Farms can be rebuilt easily enough but the history, the greatness of our jewel, Amaranthine, must be preserved."

"Indeed? I am surprised to hear you say so, Bann Esmerelle. My uncle, Bann Renfrew of Goldenvale, taught me that Ferelden nobles have a great responsibility to the people under their care, that it is part of their many duties as nobles."

They both looked faintly surprised to learn she had family among their own ranks and both were no doubt equally surprised that she would talk in such a manner to so prominent and influential a woman. Esmerelle gave her a haughty stare but Eddlebrek looked distinctly uncomfortable.

"You can imagine my surprise when I entered the city that is allegedly under your protection to be told that smugglers control the city and there is no money for additional guards. I find that quite odd. Mistress Woolsey, our treasurer, assures me you are quite the wealthiest two people in the arling so I must ask why you are not assisting more vigorously with the defense of the arling?" Leonie paused, waiting for their response. When none was forthcoming, she leaned forward slightly, lowering her voice.

"I cannot believe that you actually condone smugglers taking the food out of the mouths of your people, Bann Esmerelle. I am confident that should you wish to protect the city you so love, you will want to ensure such crimes do not occur, yes?"

Leonie paused yet again and glanced around for Loghain, who stood nearby, talking quietly to Nathaniel. He glanced up and frowned but she turned back to her two guests, relieved that he was not listening to her antagonize the two powerful people in front of her. He would probably shake her senseless if he heard her.

"I am happy to offer the services of those here at the Vigil, but not without concessions. I shall have Varel arrange a meeting to discuss this further, yes? A ceremony pledging fealty is hardly the place for it as I am sure you agree?"

With a slight nod, she turned and walked away. Varel was there immediately and he looked at her with concern.

"You look pale, Commander. Shall I bring an end to the ceremony?"

Leonie shook her head. "A few more minutes, Varel. When I nod at you, please dismiss the guests and once they are gone, meet me in my office."

Loghain had wandered off and Nathaniel was standing very quietly by himself. "Are you well, Nathaniel?" she asked kindly.

"There are as many here who hate my father as love him. I won't lie, it hasn't been enjoyable. For you either, I imagine."

Leonie nodded tiredly. "I have a favor to ask and then this evening shall come to a close."

Nathaniel stood very still. "A favor?" he asked warily.

"One you will no doubt enjoy fulfilling. Just play along with what I say, how I act. Be angry with me, disrespectful would be even better," she added and then, when she saw understanding dawn in his eyes, she placed her hand on his arm.

"But Nathaniel, I am your commander," she said, her voice walking a fine line between ice and anger, pitched low but audible to those standing nearby. From experience she knew it only took one to spread a rumor.

"That doesn't give you to right to order me about like I'm some peasant," he said, low and bitter. Ouch, hopefully he didn't really feel that way, she thought wryly.

"You will not take that tone with me, Nathaniel!" she commanded arrogantly.

"I've had all I can take of you for the night!" Nathaniel declared venomously and, turning on his heel, he left, shoulders level, head erect. She was very impressed with his acting skills. At least she hoped he was acting.

Leonie bit her lips and then bowed her head, once, making sure Varel saw it.

"Lords and Ladies, the Commander has much work to do and thanks you for your time," he announced as she calmly walked from the room, head held high.

She was not in the least surprised to find Loghain, Nathaniel and Anders in her office when she slipped in some minutes later. She sank into her chair, wincing.

"Here, Commander, let me," Ander said and he came over and placed a hand on her shoulder, a warm blue glow emanating from his hand. The aches and pains slowly eased.

"My thanks, Anders."

Loghain started to speak and she forestalled him with a tired smile. "Varel should be here momentarily and then we can discuss the evening, yes?"

She was exhausted and she leaned back in her chair, trying not to moan as her back and ribs protested. Her bed was singing to her and she wanted to answer it with a song of sleep but there were still things to do.

Varel entered and found a chair, looking just as tired as she felt and she gave him a sympathetic smile.

"I shall get right to it, the day has been long for all of us," she began and leaned forward, with another grimace. Was there a muscle in her body that wasn't angry at her?

"Ser Tamara has warned me of a conspiracy among some of the nobles. Apparently they wish me to be gone, preferably upon a funeral pyre."

Momentary silence and then they all began to speak at once. She held out her hands, motioning for silence.

"Is there any reason to doubt her, Varel?" she asked and the seneschal shook his head, frowning.

"I thought as much. She seemed a very candid, honest woman."

Loghain leaned forward then and he did not look pleased. "So you deliberately provoked the two most powerful nobles in your arling?" he asked, incredulous.

"I did what I had to, Loghain. Do the nobles here in this arling not practice the art of _noblesse oblige_? The obligation and duty to watch over the people that inhabit their lands?" she fired back, her eyes narrowed.

"Oh? Is that an _Orlesian_ thing?" he sneered. Leonie bit the inside of her cheeks before she finally responded.

"No, it is not, Loghain. My uncle discussed this ideology, this responsibility with me when last I visited him in Goldenvale. I commented on how good he was with the people in his bannorn. So apparently it is a _Ferelden _thing," she responded, sneer for sneer. Neither seemed willing to break the glare until Varel diplomatically cleared his throat.

"And you chose tonight to act like an arse?" Anders asked, turning and glowering at Nathaniel, who immediately bristled, eyeing him with a grim expression.

"Act is the right word, Anders. I asked him to speak to me in that manner. And Nathaniel, I must say, you were quite believable," Leonie commented with a wry smile. He returned the smile with a shrug of his shoulders and a faint grin.

"Why in Thedas would you do something like that?" Anders asked and turned his glower on her.

Leonie leaned forward, hands on her desk. She knew her idea would not be popular. Loghain, in fact, would probably suffer apoplexy when he heard it. Yet, she felt she had no choice, even knowing that the progress they had made would be undone. The thought made her resolve weaken momentarily but it was her life that was in jeopardy and her decision to make, as both commander and arlessa. She braced herself for the onslaught.

"Have any of you ever heard of the Grand Game?" she asked quietly.


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: **_This is a short chapter and not the one I spent the weekend outlining, but the emotion and the scene seemed to take over and demand to be written last night. Who am I to argue?  
**Thank you to all who have reviewed, alerted, added to their favorites and lurked. I appreciate it very much** _

**The Tempest**

The silence, as she had expected, was deafening. Leonie waited patiently for the tempest that she knew was to come as they all stared at her with expressions as varied as their personalities.

Loghain looked both shocked and angry, which was probably not a good sign, Leonie thought. His face had taken on a dark overcast and she was not anxious to experience that particular storm when it broke, although she knew it would break over her head.

Anders was leaning forward with a look of fascination and anticipation on his face. No doubt he was familiar enough with devious plots since he had escaped the tower seven times to appreciate a well thought out scheme. He would probably be her most ardent supporter until he found out what she wanted him to do.

Nathaniel wore a bemused expression on his face, as if he wasn't quite sure he had heard her correctly. But she also saw that he was intrigued by the idea and would aid her if he thought it might really help. At least she hoped that was the case; his was the most important and potentially the most dangerous role in the Grand Game. Without his help there would be no game at all.

Varel wore a smile, a wry twist of lips that indicated he was more than willing to listen to the plan, even if he thought it was foolish and outrageous. His muddy brown eyes met hers and for a flicker she saw sympathy in them and she lowered her eyes quickly. Sympathy would lead to tears, she had no doubt. She was on the verge of them as it was, so tired and tense and sore that she hovered on the brink.

"I asked you today if you were a bloody lunatic but I was wrong to ask that. I should have just told you that you are unequivocally the most insane person I've ever had the misfortune to meet," Loghain said coldly and his words, each one sheathed in ice, hit her forcefully in her stomach, as well as in her pride. She felt the shimmering heat of anger, the first flicker of rage begin to build.

"I suggest you all turn in. We will discuss the plan in the morning, when cooler heads prevail," she said, her voice clipped, an annoyed glance in Loghain's direction. She would not be subjected to one more of his searing indictments in front of her men. Not. One. More.

Anders, Varel and Nathaniel hastily departed with murmured good nights. Varel, glancing back to see if Loghain was following them, shut the door quietly behind him when it became apparent that he was not leaving.

Loghain and Leonie sat facing each other and she raised an eyebrow at him. He stood up abruptly and began to pace the room in long strides and Leonie took a deep breath. She was at the end of her patience with him and could feel the firestorm coming, even if he was too foolish to see it was aimed at him.

"If you think I will submit to the perverse machinations of this _Orlesian_ game of yours, you are not only a bloody lunatic, but a delusional one at that," he finally said, coming to stand before her, palms flat on the desk, leaning forward. She recognized it as the stance of a man who was challenging her leadership. She forced herself to remain seated, fought to keep her expression calm.

"Ah, and I should wait then until they try to kill me? Is that what you want? For them to kill me? Perhaps they too have hired the Antivan Crows, yes? Is that not the _Ferelden_ way? Hire someone else to do the less palatable work? Tell me, Loghain, how did that work out for you?" she asked, her voice spiced with sarcasm and anger.

She saw that her remarks hit their intended target. Saw it in the suddenly rigid set of his shoulders as he pushed away from the desk and stood up. Saw it in the tension in his face, the bitterness in his eyes. Knew she had wounded him and knew too that he could very well be unforgiving because of it.

She felt conflicted as she watched the change in him. She wanted to apologize, to reach out a placating hand and urge him to let go of his anger and accept her for who she was. She wanted to attack him, to strike out and punish him for all the hurt he had caused her, to break through that bitter and cold façade and make him understand that she was not just his commander, but a flesh and blood person, not some hated Orlesian of a past he couldn't let go of. And deep in her was the hard coil of grief at the loss of Duncan by his hands. The blame she directed at him and refused to relinquish but also refused to acknowledge.

She was not blind, she understood that the pastel paint used in Orlesian's historical view of the occupation was not the truth, that the paints used were much darker. She was not ignorant of the type of men who had ruled over the Fereldans with vicious purpose. But she had not been born then, was no more responsible for the atrocities of the war than she was for the color of the sky. She had no control over either. How could he fail to see that? How could he continue to blindly ignore that truth?

"I should have let you continue on to Montsimmard, to experience what it is to be a stranger in a strange land. To have everything you do and say be treated with disdain and suspicion," she began and her voice, to her dismay, was shaky and uneven. She fell silent, reaching for a calm that she was far from feeling.

"I experienced it during your country's occupation of my country and I assure it you it is much worse when the land is familiar but the people are strangers," he broke in bitterly.

Every emotion that Leonie had fought to ignore or had pushed aside coalesced in her, came tumbling out, harsh and hot like a desert wind, thick with recriminations and tears she refused to shed.

"No more," she began, clenching her hands, fighting for a control that had slipped so far beyond her grasp she could no longer even see it, let alone reach it.

"I have let you belittle me. Berate me. Challenge my every decision because I believed I was solely a Grey Warden and you were my brother, that I had to leave all of my Orlesian upbringing behind me in order to gain your respect. But that is not so, is it? No matter what I say or do I will always be no more than an Orlesian, an enemy to be despised and harangued in your eyes."

A gathering warmth of liquid formed in the corners of her eyes and she dashed the tears away angrily. Maker, she would not let him see her cry.

"I am homesick. I miss the vineyards of Val Vin Paradisiaque , I miss the sound of the Choir of the Divine rising above Val Royeaux like a whisper to the Maker. I miss the flowers that bloom along the Grand Boulevard of the Divine.

"I miss the simple camaraderie of fellow Grey Wardens who accept the need to overlook borders and race and gender for a greater good. Who know your past and accept it without question because of the bonds of brotherhood.

"I miss the easy affection of friends who know the importance of human touch and understanding and compassion. I miss those friends who spoke with fondness, who cared about what I thought and felt.

"I miss Riordan, my mentor and best friend, because he understood these things for all that he was _Highever_ born and bred. He understood and accepted them, accepted me. I miss him because he made me laugh even when I thought I had nothing but tears and bitterness inside me.

"But mostly, I miss Duncan, who knew me, who guided me to become a better Grey Warden, a better _person_, who loved me for all that I am despite his being _Ferelden_ born and bred. Who showed me with grace and patience and love that I could be all that I chose to be, that together people are stronger than those who live apart and separate.

"I have told you over and over that I am not an Orlesian, that I am a Grey Warden but that is not entirely true, as you have so often reminded me these past days. I am a Grey Warden, yes, but one who was born and raised in Orlais. My heritage is both those things and I will not continue to deny that fact in the hope that it somehow makes things easier for you, or in the hope that you will accept that I am the commander and I can and do make rational decisions. Nor will I deny it in the hope that you see that I am a human being, no less worthy and no more worthy of respect than any other human being.

"If you cannot find it in you to accept who I am then I will issue new orders for you to report to Montsimmard because I will not have you continually undermining my authority.

"You are dismissed," she finished, her voice still low and bitter, flavored with hurt and frustration. She held her chin tilted, head high, for all that she wanted to lay it down on her desk and weep.

He started to speak and she held up a hand. "You are dismissed," she repeated firmly, her tears threatening to break over her like a spring storm.

He turned and left. She braced herself, expecting the door to slam behind him but there was no more than a quiet click as it shut. She realized that his was a cold and hard anger, like a finely honed steel blade, sharp and pointed, while her anger was like the lava flows of Orzammar, hot and bubbling, threatening always to burn any who stood too close. That observation served to highlight the vast differences between them and brought her tears even closer to the surface.

With a sigh, she pulled her quill and inkpot close and bent to the task of writing Loghain's new orders. When she was done, she rose and slowly made her way up to his room and rapped lightly on the door.

His face was cast in shadows, appeared still, his expression unreadable as he opened the door. But he didn't slam the door in her face and she was grateful enough for that. She handed him his new orders and turned to leave.

"You can't expect me to change who I am, who I've been for so long, simply to make it easier for you. At least not overnight," he said in a quiet, weary voice.

"And you cannot expect me to change my heritage, who I am, simply to make it easier for you. At least not overnight," she responded just as quietly, without turning back to look at him.

In the morning she found Loghain's new orders for Montsimmard torn up into small pieces, lying on her desk.


	11. Chapter 11

**Directions**

Mornings, for Leonie, had always been filled with possibilities. And nothing spoke more to that feeling than the Loghain's now discarded orders for Montsimmard. As she finished buckling into her armor the following morning, she was not so foolish as to think that things with Loghain would suddenly be warm and close. She had wounded him and he was not a man to take wounds, especially to his pride, with equanimity. She hoped, however naïve it was to hope for such things, that they could at least find a less poisonous way of dealing with each other. She knew she had altered the steps of their dance and that now they would have to start all over, learning new steps. At least they had both expressed a willingness to try and learn those new steps. The possibility was there for a better relationship and she would strive to meet his effort with equal effort.

After a meeting with Varel, she found her way to the dining hall and her men, all gathered around a table and talking amongst themselves. Pausing for a moment to look at each one, she felt a brief rush of optimism. Maybe there was the possibility that they could forge some semblance of camaraderie, a Grey Warden family. She found herself smiling as she looked on at them, wondering if perhaps they were finally traveling in a better direction.

Anders, so happy to be out of the tower and the control of the templars was easy to like, easy to trust because in many ways, his emotions were an open book. She doubted he was quite as open as he let on, but he was irresistible in his boyish charm and she had liked him from the beginning. He would be a good friend.

Nathaniel was quieter, darker in both looks and temperament, very difficult to read at times. But there was a sweetness in his unguarded moments, a courtliness that belied the harshness of his upbringing and spoke to that nobility of spirit she had first seen in him. He had a temper and he had moments where his own bitterness threatened to spill over on to others, but he was growing, letting go of the bitterness and moving forward. She could do no less and found that her smile widened.

Loghain was the real mystery and it surprised her to see him there, discussing bows with Nathaniel in a cordial manner. It struck her, as she watched him, that Loghain may not be a stranger in a strange land, but he had become a stranger in a familiar land and that must be, at times, even more difficult to cope with. He had gone from an admired hero and powerful landowner, to a regent and then fallen from grace to become a pariah to many, a Grey Warden without title or fame. Even those who called him the Hero of Ferelden often mistook him for the one who had slain the Archdemon and when they learned he was not, they didn't hide their disappointment. The tightly woven threads of her anger began to slowly unravel as that realization came to her.

"Good morning again, Commander Leonie. Your orders are being carried out," Varel said quietly, coming to stand beside her.

"Thank you, Varel. You are a marvel of efficiency," Leonie said and found herself touching his arm in thanks, no longer afraid to touch a person, even if they were Fereldan. When he did not flinch at the gesture, she felt a small surge of relief and another blossom of hope that the new direction would bring them all to a better destination.

She had asked him to find an office for Loghain. If he was truly going to act as second, he would need a place to work. After a brief discussion with Varel they decided the room adjoining her office would do well. Formerly a sitting room, it was large and had an entrance from the hallway as well as a door between their offices. Varel was also finding larger accommodations for Loghain. She had glimpsed his bedroom the night before and been appalled at how small it was. She had asked Varel to check with Nathaniel and Anders to ensure they had comfortable quarters as well. The three men sitting before her were the Senior Wardens of Ferelden, whether they knew it or not.

"Good morning," she said, finally entering the dining room and coming to sit beside Anders.

"Wow, you look terrible," Anders whistled, looking at her.

"Thank you, Anders. The only thing a woman hopes to hear more than that is that she has gained weight," Leonie retorted with a grin. She heard Nathaniel snicker and Anders looked slightly abashed before speaking again.

"I just mean the bruises from the ogre dance," he said helpfully.

She raised her eyebrows at him but he was busy looking elsewhere.

"I have spoken to the cook who is arranging meal packets for us. We are off to the Winding Woods," she began and now she heard a snicker from Loghain.

"Wending Wood," Nathaniel corrected quietly with a smile.

"Yes, exactly so," she agreed, reaching for a large chunk of cheese. "Which direction is it in, again?" Nathaniel groaned good naturedly.

"I suppose none of you will actually let me lead us on this excursion?"

"Not a chance, Commander," he agreed and went back to sipping his tea.

"What about, you know, the Grand Game?" Anders whispered loudly, furtively looking around him. Leonie thought he wouldn't last a day in Empress Celene's court with his boyish wide-eyed playfulness.

"We will discuss the plans for that along the way. I have been led to believe we will not reach the area until tomorrow afternoon. Unless there are horses hidden somewhere on the premises?" Nathaniel shook his head.

"We shall depart within the hour," she added, grabbing an apple and heading back to her office. Varel had left a stack of requisitions on her desk, as well as Mistress Woolsey's latest treasury report. Unfortunately, his requests and her funds did not coincide. She went through them and then looked up with a sigh.

"There will never be enough money for everything," she groaned, putting her chin in her hands and pushing the requisitions away.

"Perhaps Esmerelle and Eddlebrek will contribute," Loghain said, lounging against the door frame, ankles crossed and arms folded across his chest. There was a smile trying very hard to turn his lips up at the corners and almost succeeding.

"Yes, they are more than likely feeling great shame for their avaricious and miserly behavior, no doubt," she agreed and demonstrated how smiling was done. He seemed a slow student as the lines of his mouth once again straightened.

"Has Varel shown you to your new office?" she asked, setting the papers aside and rising. She felt unaccountably nervous at his continued presence.

"I'm to have an office, am I?" he asked with a quirk of his brow. She was beginning to recognize his smile by the look in his eyes as the intensity of the expression in them eased.

"As my second I thought you might prefer that to conducting business out of the dining hall? I am most willing to have you do so, however, if that is your wish," she replied, moving to him and motioning for him to follow her.

"How convenient. Am I to be at your beck and call then?" he asked derisively when they entered his new office and she nodded.

"I really hope that there is a sycophant somewhere inside you. I find I rather like the idea of having one, you see."

"I feel compelled to warn you that you'll be sadly disappointed in that regard," he remarked dryly and she found herself chuckling as she turned to go back to her office and then stopped, looking back at him.

"Oh, I thought you should know, Loghain. Should anything happen to me, I have sent a recommendation that you be made the Warden Commander of the Grey of Ferelden."

"You are a very impetuous woman," he said quietly and there was an odd note of something that sounded faintly like respect in his voice and that was not what she expected to hear.

"I know. It is a very _Orlesian_ trait," she replied, walking away with a smile. She was almost sure she heard a snicker or a snort or perhaps even a chuckle. It was a sound she had not heard from him before and she found she rather liked it. Which made her steps falter as she entered her office.

* * *

"We need horses," Anders complained, coming to walk beside her.

"Yes, we do. More importantly, we need the funds for such luxuries," Leonie responded dryly and shifted her pack wishing, not for the first time, that the others had horses. Leaving Vixen behind had not been easy.

"You're an arlessa. Surely you have money," he protested and gave her a winsome smile.

"Absolutely, Anders. I do this forced march only to watch you suffer."

"I knew it!" Anders cried in triumph. "I just didn't think you'd actually admit it," he added with a grin.

The sun was slowly sinking and the shadows were stretching across the road, long spiking fingers that wavered as the wind rustled through the trees. The day was pleasant and the night promised to be cool. She was looking forward to a warm fire and a good night's sleep, just not the hard ground she would have to sleep on.

"We still haven't talked about…you know…the _game_," he said with a conspiratorial smirk, glancing from side to side.

"You have the patience of a three year old, you do know that, yes?"

"Really? Because I feel like I've been remarkably patient," he disagreed with a disappointed sigh and fell back to walk with Nathaniel.

"We should stop soon, set up camp," Loghain said quietly, taking Anders' place at her side.

"I agree. I leave it to you to find the best site," she responded and grimaced at the thought of setting up her tent and sleeping on the hard ground. Her ribs were protesting and her entire body still ached. She had an odd assortment of bruises along the left side of her body. Some were the color of a sunset on a stormy day.

"How far are we from the Wending Wood?"

"At this pace we'll be there tomorrow in the early afternoon. I suggest setting up a base camp as soon as we arrive and then finding the darkspawn."

Leonie shivered. The closer they drew to their destination, the more uneasy she became. There was something out there, something that was pulling at her and yet it didn't feel like darkspawn. Loghain frowned at her. Was the Architect out there? Certainly not nearby, whatever she was feeling was barely a whisper of a thought.

"I have to agree with Anders. You look terrible," he said quietly.

"Thank you. Nothing quite cheers a woman up like those three words," she responded with another grimace.

"What is it?" he asked and stopped to look at her.

"I think perhaps I am just tired, Loghain."

He stared at her, his eyes intent and probing. "Don't be foolish," he warned and his voice had taken on that cold edge that let her know he was not happy with her answer, but he began walking again, continuing on until he found a spot near a small stream.

She gratefully slid her pack off her shoulders and rolled her shoulders. Anders came up and with an inquiring look, began to cast his blue glow around her. She could feel the power of his healing flowing through her and the aches subsided. Setting up her tent was far less painful than she had anticipated and before long Loghain had a fire going and they were all eating their flat bread and dried meat.

"So tell me, fearless leader, _did_ you kill a Chevalier?"

Leonie glanced over the rim of her mug and eyed him warily. "You want to tell campfire stories?" she asked in surprise.

"Well, I want _you_ to tell one, sure," he enthused, stroking Ser Pounce's ginger fur.

"I will do so only if you tell us about one of your escapes from the tower," she bargained and he shook his head.

"You don't play fair at all, Commander."

"Leonie. You may all call me Leonie when it is just us. Or Leo."

"Not Lion?" Anders asked and she sighed.

"Or Lion," she conceded and leaned back against the log she had propped herself against.

"So, did you?" Anders asked again and Loghain spoke.

"You're like a dog worrying a bone, mage," he groused. Ser Pounce hissed once in Loghain's direction and then curled up again on Anders' lap, licking his whiskers sleepily. He eyed the kitten with no small amount of animosity. Leonie bit back a snicker. Loghain and the kitten were developing a mutual dislike for each other. She wondered how long before one of them drew blood.

"Yes, I killed a Chevalier."

Anders leaned forward, grinning at her. "Was he the one you killed with your teeth?" and he really did resemble a small boy listening to stories of heroes and legends.

"No, we fought a duel," Leonie said softly, absently rubbing along the scar that ran along her neck.

"You fought a duel with a Chevalier and won? That's rather…scary, actually," Nathaniel interjected and there was a bit of awe mingled with a bit of fear in his voice.

Loghain stared at her and frowned. "Is that something you do often? Duel?" he asked and there was that coolness once again in his voice, a note of disapproval and she returned his frown with one of her own.

"I do not." Her voice was quiet and she turned her gaze to the fire, falling silent.

"So do we have to drag the story out of you?" Anders asked, scratching Ser Pounce and cooing over him.

"Not at all, I do not plan on telling any story until you regale us with one."

Anders sighed in defeat.

"The first attempt, and not my finest, lasted three hours. Long enough for me to get to the nearest tavern and have a pint or two before the templars came and collected me. It seems that they have an agreement with the proprietors regarding mages."

Nathaniel laughed outright at that and it was the first time Leonie had heard him genuinely laugh. Deep and low, it was a rich laugh and not, she suspected, something he did frequently. "You stopped and had ale while you were escaping? No wonder you never succeeded, mage," Nathaniel snorted.

"Well, escaping is thirsty work," Anders explained and he grinned at them. "And there was a beautiful barmaid there, Sondra. Tried to talk her into coming with me."

Leonie was laughing now as well. "So you escaped the tower, which is full of young women, to go to a tavern and pick up the first woman you encountered? I have to agree with Nathaniel."

"Now, I've told my tale. Your turn," he said, shooting her another boyish grin.

"I believe the request was to tell us _how_ you escaped," Leonie reminded him with a grin.

Anders looked a bit embarrassed. "I borrowed the cook's clothes and walked out."

"And the templars didn't sense your magic? Come, Anders, do not tease us."

"The cook was interested in me. You know, because I'm stunningly handsome and virile," he began, waggling his brows at Leonie who feigned disbelief. "So we went to her room and well, she fell asleep afterwards so I liberated her clothes. She wasn't wearing them anyway. A little soot from the fireplace and a plate of her famous pastries, laced with enough sleeping potion to knock out a horse, and the templars never knew what hit them."

By now he had captured their attention completely and he described how he had gone down to the dock only to see that the boat was on the far shore. So he had jumped into the lake and swam to the shore.

"Did they not find it odd that a stunningly handsome, virile man such as yourself came in wearing a very wet dress?" Leonie asked and they were both laughing again.

"Yes, well I didn't say it was a perfect plan," Anders defended.

"Say," he went on with a big smile, "did you just call me stunningly handsome and virile?" He preened in an exaggerated manner.

"Not at all, Anders. You called yourself stunningly handsome and virile. I merely repeated it. My father always told me it is better to agree with a delusional person than to try and argue them out of their delusion," Leonie replied and then she heard it. Loghain's laugh, rusty from disuse and not very loud, but she felt as if she had received a very precious gift. She turned her gaze to him and he met her look with a raised brow and a gleam in his eyes.

"Now, it's your turn, Lion," Anders said, leaning forward eagerly.

"My story is much too somber for so light a mood," she said and then continued, her voice full of mirth, "I do, however, have a tale about a friend of mine."

With a grin, she embarked on the story of Riordan, his tryst with a bard, his hasty departure from her room and his subsequent race down the back stairs of a tavern in a peacock blue wrapper. She didn't mention his name and if Loghain guessed, he didn't say but as they all finished laughing, he met her eyes again and there was a hint of warmth in his gaze. And this too was a new direction, a new hope.

The first strands of friendship began to weave around them, as delicate and fragile as a spider's silk.

**A/N:** _The tale Leonie recounts is from chapter thirteen of "The Lion of Orlais", entitled "Shenanigans" and is a shameless way of promoting my earlier story. _


	12. Chapter 12

**Bitter Wood**

Leonie slept fitfully and when it was her watch, she was already up and dressed in her armor. Loghain handed her a steaming mug of tea and, fighting back a yawn, she thanked him.

"You still look terrible," he said in a low voice.

"And you still look dour. I suppose we shall just have to learn to live with these things, yes?" she replied quietly. He looked startled but even in the flickering firelight she saw that one corner of his mouth tilted up.

"Yes, I suppose we shall," he agreed dryly and then entered his tent.

She shook her head as she settled down by the fire, sword across her lap. He had become quite adept at keeping her off balanced in the past day and she was not at all sure how she felt about it. She was staring into the embers trying not think about it when she heard a rustling sound. She set her mug down and stood up, sword at the ready.

"Just me, fearless leader. Don't stab me," Anders said _sotto voce_.

"Are you not well, Anders?" she asked, moving further away from the other two tents where she could hear Loghain removing his heavy armor and Nathaniel's soft snores.

"Thank you," he said simply and his voice and expression were serious.

"You have thanked me many times over for the kitten, Anders. There is no need to do so again," she replied with a smile.

He met her eyes then and even in the semi-darkness she saw that it was more than that, his hazel eyes almost green with the depth of his emotion.

"No, Lion. Thank you for this. For freedom," he said softly and his smile was warm and sincere.

Leonie touched his arm lightly and returned his smile. "It is hardly freedom, Anders. You have only thirty years to live, and most of that time will be spent fighting darkspawn," she said quietly.

"Hmmm, thirty years with the Grey Wardens or thirty seconds with the templars. I think you had the better offer," he replied, once again slipping into his usual jocularity.

"Ah, I see your point. In that case, you are most welcome."

"So, now are you going to tell me about the game?" he asked giving her a grin.

"In the middle of the night? With the others not around? Most assuredly not."

They stood in silence for several minutes before Anders finally shrugged and said, "In that case I'm off to bed again. Or off to bedroll, at least."

"Good night, Anders," she replied and watched as he made his way over to his tent, not bothering to hide her grin.

Morning dawned bright, with the promise of a warm and sunny day. She set about heating water for their breakfast, adding dried apples to the grey porridge that Fereldans seems to enjoy. As they all gathered for tea and porridge, Leonie finally told Anders what his role in the game would be. He was not happy.

"Lady Liza? Really? She has the face of a horse and the personality of a fish and you want me to _woo _her?" he asked, incredulity and disappointment warring for prominence in his voice.

"I would say that a horse has a leg up on her in the looks department," Nathaniel snickered as he stood up. Leonie bit back an answering snicker.

"Why not Lady Morag? Or Ser Tamra?" Anders pleaded.

"Do not, under any circumstances, contact Ser Tamra. Doing so will put her life in even more danger. And Lady Morag seems to be one of those who is on the outside, looking in and wishing to play," Leonie explained patiently.

Anders glared at her and then finally shrugged. "Just don't ask me to kiss her. I'm loyal but not _that_ loyal," he grumbled and went to start tearing down his tent.

"I assume you want me to continue distancing myself? Letting people know I don't like you?" Nathaniel asked quietly and Leonie nodded.

"You are the one person most likely to be let into the conspirators' confidences. Many think you should have taken your father's place and if you encourage that belief by saying so yourself, they will be quite willing to expose themselves to you," Leonie agreed and then stared at him with a raised brow when he chuckled.

"What is so funny?" she asked, somewhat indignant at his continued chuckling. He just shook his head. She glanced at Loghain, who had been listening intently but was now busy staring into his empty mug, his face wearing a smirk.

"Loghain, what are you smirking about?" Leonie asked but he wouldn't meet her eyes.

Anders, wandering back, heard Nathaniel chuckling and saw Loghain's smirk and immediately asked, "What's so funny? Did I miss a joke or something?"

"I have no idea," Leonie said with a shrug but she could feel a blush rising steadily up to her cheeks.

"The Commander wants the nobles to expose themselves to me," Nathaniel finally said and his chuckles turned into laughter, which Anders gleefully joined in on.

"That's no fair! I have to woo Horseface and you get to have all the others expose themselves?"

"What? What is so funny?" she demanded now, hands on her hips. "I merely said that they would expose themse…oh Maker's breath! Men!" she huffed and went to take her tent down, cheeks scarlet.

* * *

Loghain and Leonie exchanged looks as they stood by the overturned wagon and the bloody corpses. There was something wrong. The destruction was too great to have been done by a group of bandits. Yet neither did it feel like a darkspawn attack.

"This looks almost as if it was done in a rage. See how that body seems to have been squeezed? Look at those odd marks," Leonie said, bending closer.

"Do you sense any darkspawn?" he asked quietly as they examined another corpse.

"No. That does not mean there are none present, just none nearby. This, however, does not appear to be the work of darkspawn."

"I agree. Let's press forward," he said and Leonie blanched, a remembered pain, fleeting and then gone again. He was watching her closely, his eyebrow quirked. She shook her head, unable to explain how a mere turn of phrase could affect her so deeply.

There was an acrid bite in the air, a bitter tang of blood and something more, something sharper. It reminded Leonie of a tree that grew in the western areas of the Abyssal Reach. Some called the tree Sulfurwood but most called it Bitterwood. It reminded Leonie of death and despair and misery. The Wending Wood that they had entered, while filled with towering, fragrant pines and proud hardwoods, had that same smell, that same feel.

The sylvans were a surprise. Huge trees that moved with the grace of a duelist and the strength of a warrior. Leonie had never fought a tree before. She was busy trying to avoid their roots and figuring out how to hurt them when Anders let loose with several fireballs.

"Demon possessed?" she asked Anders after the final two sylvans were dispatched.

"I'd guess. I've read about demons taking possession of non mortals. Not that I want to see more of them and ask them personally if that's what they are," he added with a delicate shiver.

Nathaniel was kneeling beside a set of tracks, his strong features furrowed in concentration. "There are more bandits ahead, probably six. But these other tracks, I've never seen anything quite like them. Like a log being dragged, but a barbed log."

Again Leonie and Loghain glanced at each other. Leonie felt a prickle of unease settle in her stomach. She knelt beside Nathaniel and he pointed them out. Before they could follow the tracks, another group of bandits broke cover and Leonie and Loghain were plunging forward, swords singing. Nathaniel was firing rapidly and accurately and had she not been so busy, she would have stopped to watch. She hadn't seen an archer that skilled since her early days in Lydes with Vandhar.

As the last bandit fell, Loghain pulled her aside. "I'm going to loot, take the men ahead," he said quietly and she nodded. Sooner or later they would have to tell the men the truth. She suspected Nathaniel would take it in stride but Anders would be horrified.

"Nathaniel, do you see any more of those tracks?" she asked, leading the men away from Loghain.

"They seem to lead up to that bridge. I won't know if they go beyond there until we cross it."

"Is there anything you can account for that would make these tracks, other than a log with barbs? I cannot imagine what such a thing would be used for."

Loghain came up to them and they continued on. As soon as they crossed the bridge, they saw a man, a bandit from appearances, running headlong down the hill toward them, his expression one of abject terror. He skidded to a stop at their approach.

"Get out of here, get out before it's too late," he gasped, his face streaming with sweat. Fear mixed with the sweat that was flowing from his pores.

"Who did this, if not you?" Leonie asked, grabbing the man's wrist. He twisted and turned, desperately afraid of something. "What are you so afraid of?" she continued. Loghain moved in, his sword point resting on the man's chest.

"Not me, not me. It was her. She done it. She's going to kill us all," he babbled, frantic to escape.

"Please, we just figured on some easy money, never reckoned on this," he pleaded and then he broke free and started running.

"You! More of you, but it won't do you any good! More and more will die until my sister is returned to me!" a woman, voice shrill and bitter, cried. Leonie's head swiveled and she saw an elven woman, a Dalish keeper from the look of her, standing on the hill above them.

"I do not know what you are talking about, perhaps you can explain, yes?" Leonie asked, trying to keep her voice even and calm. The woman was obviously demented.

"No! You have done enough to my kind, Shem. There will be no more talking until you return my sister!"

The Dalish mage raised her arms and Leonie could see her lips moving one minute and then the next minute the woman disappeared, as if swallowed whole by the roots of a tree that was no longer there either. She shivered, her hair on her arms standing on end. They were all silent for a minute, trying to sort out what they had just seen. Bitterwood. The elf reminded her of Bitterwood. Finally, Leonie instructed them to continue on, in the hope of finding the woman or at least some answers.

Answers were not all they found. The stench, the smell of decay, and a trail of blood led them to an open pit, filled with the rotting corpses of soldiers. The missing militia sent to guard the trade caravans. Leonie's stomach turned and she twisted away from the grisly sight, finding a tree to vomit behind. She could hear someone else doing the same. Loghain seemed to be made of marble, his face white, his whole body stiff and still. Nathaniel was almost as pale, a fine sheen of sweat dampening his features. Leonie thought she probably looked as green as Anders did.

"Stay here," she said quietly and forced herself, on shaking legs, to go down and examine a body. She choked several times, gagging, and Loghain was there with a small square of linen he put into her trembling fingers. She pressed it against her nose but it did little to block out the smell.

"Darkspawn did this," she finally said, standing up. She clambered out of the pit and they moved on. Anders wanted to do something about the bodies but Leonie knew they couldn't risk drawing attention to them by lighting a pyre, nor could they take the time to burn the men. She wished fervently that they could.

Over a small rise, tucked in amongst a copse of trees, they found a soldier, so polluted with the taint that he was already edging into the madness of a ghoul.

"They are watching you. _He _is watching you," he mumbled as Leonie and Loghain knelt beside him.

She felt them then, a group of darkspawn not far away. "Nathaniel. Anders. We are about to have company. There is an emissary with them," Leonie warned quietly before turning back to the soldier, who'd said his name was Olaf.

"Your pain must be great, Olaf. Shall I end it for you?" she asked softly.

"Yes, yes, end. Must end. Too much pain, too many deaths," he whispered. She reached out and put a soothing hand on his shoulder.

"May the mercy of the Maker light your path home, Olaf," she said and quickly cut his throat.

She wanted to cry, she wanted to be sick again. She wanted to curl up on the ground and go to sleep, to pretend this was a dream, nothing more than a taint fueled nightmare. Instead, she stood and carefully wiped the blade of her dagger and then pulled out her sword. Loghain's shield was already on his arm, sword in hand.

"Six," she said and moved in the direction her tainted blood was pulling her in. It was a vicious fight. Leonie's anger and shock at finding all the soldiers killed and tumbled into a pit like so much refuse fueled her battle lust. Her dagger and sword flashed, glittering in the sunlight as she brought them forward, thrusting and slashing. Nothing stopped her until the last darkspawn was dead at her feet. Only then did she notice her own wound, a small cut above her knee that stung as her sweat seeped into it. She looked at the others.

Loghain had a gash above his left eyebrow and she wondered, as she knelt to apply a poultice and bandage, if he knew how close he had come to losing his eye. She also wondered if he would consider wearing a helmet to avoid those types of injuries but as she didn't wear one either, she hardly hoped to convince him to do so.

Anders was busy with Nathaniel, who had sustained a wicked slash across his upper chest but Anders assured them it was shallow and would heal easily. Nathaniel looked oddly peaceful and relaxed as Anders bent over him and shrugged when she asked if he hurt.

She finally unbuckled her cuisse and poleyn and set them aside to gently peel back the torn padding beneath. With a grimace, she wrapped the narrow wound with a bandage and then began to buckle her leg armor on once more.

Standing, she looked down at her men. They looked as tired as she felt. "We need to find that elf or the trade caravans will never make it through to Amaranthine."

Loghain handed her a waterskin. She drank gratefully and capping it, handed it back. She should apologize to her men. Her fighting had been furious and graceless, a style that could have left them with worse wounds than the ones they had sustained. Instead she picked up her sword and led them on.

They found her at the top of a mesa, the remnants of a small Dalish camp looking forlorn and empty. There were several rock mounds, cairns for the dead, she realized. The woman was waiting and as they drew near, she raised her hands, her voice still etched in acid and dripping bitterness.

"You Shems, all alike, taking whatever you want, whoever you want! Now return my sister!"

"We do not have your sister. I suspect the darkspawn do. The soldiers are all dead, killed by the same darkspawn that took your sister, I have no doubt. You have murdered innocent people," Leonie began, her voice cool and impersonal. She knew, even as she spoke that she would not be able to reason with the woman. Grief and bitterness had driven her to the brink and beyond. She and Loghain inched forward.

"Lies! Darkspawn don't do that," the woman retorted, her face twisting. As she raised her hands, preparing to cast a spell, Loghain, without a second's hesitation, ran her through. The woman crumpled to the ground without even a sigh.

"I suppose we had no choice," Leonie murmured regretfully, staring down at the woman's serene expression. Loghain stared at her with an odd expression in his eyes and then rolled his shoulders, as if his armor was biting into his flesh.

"No, I suppose we didn't," he said and there was a sharpness in his voice, an anger that she didn't understand. She frowned at him.

"I am not blaming you," she said quietly.

"Aren't you?" he asked thinly and moved to join Anders and Nathaniel, who were examining a large cache of weapons.

Impossible man, she thought sourly as she bent down to loot the body of the Dalish keeper whose clan was apparently dead. It was then that she felt the headache at the base of her skull and she couldn't help the frustrated hiss that escaped her.

"Darkspawn, seven of them and an ogre. Because our day is not complete without an ogre," she warned, rising to feet.

The men all looked up from the weapons and slowly stood and Loghain was moving to her, removing his shield.

"You can use this, I assume?" he said, thrusting it at her. Startled, she took it and stared at him in surprise.

"I can but I have not done so in some years now. I can hardly go leaping onto an ogre with this strapped on my arm," she said, offering it back to him.

"Then don't leap. I'll kill the ogre. You keep the other darkspawn busy," he said coolly, refusing to take the shield from her outstretched hands.

"Do not be ridiculous. It is not an easy thing to do. You are not…" she began but he broke in, his tone even colder.

"Young?" he interjected and there was a hint of anger in the coldness of his voice.

"Trained," she responded, shaking the shield at him so that he would notice it and take it from her.

"Trained? You launch yourself at the ogre and bury your sword in his heart. That hardly requires training," he returned with even more wintery bite in his tone.

"Maker's breath, Loghain, I've done this dozens of times. This is hardly the time or place for you to attempt this for the first time," she replied and the anger in her voice was hot.

"Oh look, Nate! Mum and Da are fighting again," Anders said with feigned surprise, coming to join them.

Leonie shot him a glare but he grinned at her, completely unapologetic. Nathaniel snickered but covered the noise with a blatantly obvious cough.

"Very well, Loghain. You throw yourself at the mercy of the ogre and I'll keep the others entertained," Leonie finally said and her unspoken thought was that he would be far more entertaining than the darkspawn.

"Anders, paralyze the ogre. There is an emissary down there as well, but I'll try to keep him too busy to cast. Nathaniel, you focus your fire on the emissary but the moment he is down, hit the ogre."

Without waiting for any of them to argue further, she strapped Loghain's shield on her left arm and went through a few practice moves, trying to remember her training. She led them back down the path and drew her sword.

"Maker guide you," she whispered as Loghain came to stand beside her. He shot her a glance but remained silent.

Leonie focused on the emissary but it was difficult not to want to watch Loghain leaping up to bury his blades into the ogre's heart. If he managed to do it at all it would be amazing. She was busy keeping the caster occupied, bashing and swiping at him. She finally brought her sword down and severed his hand at the wrist, which did not endear her to him but with a howl of outrage, he fell, the victim of a very well placed arrow and she was on to the hurlocks. She felt the ground shake and knew Loghain had been successful in killing the ogre and couldn't help but be impressed.

Afterwards, when Leonie and Loghain were both bent over, panting and sweating, he shot her a smug look that she had the instant desire to scratch off his face with her nails, but she just nodded. It was then that she felt it, the gentle tug, the deep and not uncomfortable pulling deep inside her. A familiar and unwelcome sensation.

"There are more darkspawn in the mine," she told them. She turned to look at Loghain, her hands trembling.

"The Architect is here," she said, her mouth dry and her voice stained dark with bitterness.


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N:** _This chapter is split. The first part of it is from Loghain's PoV and the second part is Leonie's PoV  
My continued thanks and deep appreciation for all who lurk and review and encourage. It truly helps me keep writing._

**Roads Less Traveled**

The first thing he noticed was the hardness of the stone under his cheek. The second thing he noticed was that his body ached as if he had run for miles, his legs so sore they didn't want to respond to his simple command to stand. He blinked several times.

"I think he's finally coming around."

Nathaniel's voice, low and sounding as tired as he felt. Loghain blinked again and then slowly rolled over. His eyes closed. Maker, he was tired. And seemed to have some gaps in his memory. Where was he?

The last thing he remembered clearly was his commander arguing with him. Again. This time about killing her. And while he had wanted to throttle her a time or two, he really didn't have the urge to kill her so he was surprised when she insisted that he do just that. Had he really agreed? He blinked again and opened his eyes and found even the dim, flickering light of the torches hurt so he closed them again.

She had turned those big eyes of hers on him and _pleaded_ with him to kill her if the Architect captured her. And he had found himself agreeing to do so. His eyes snapped open. With a deep groan he tried not to let escape, he sat up. The groan came with him, followed by a grunt of pain. A wave of dizziness swept through him, leaving his stomach roiling and his ears ringing. He blinked again and opened his eyes.

Nathaniel was seated, leaning against a stone wall, elbows on his knees, head propped in his hands. He looked pale and tired. Anders was leaning against the iron bars of their cell, looking almost as pale but not nearly as tired. Flicking his gaze around their cell, he did not see the commander. Loghain licked his cracked, cry lips.

"Where's Commander Leonie?" he asked in a hoarse, raspy voice. He felt as thirsty as he did tired. And confused.

"Gone. They brought us back here and took her. She's been gone quite awhile now," Anders said and his voice was grim.

"Don't move around too much. They took some blood and it will take time to recover," he added and closed his eyes, stretching his legs out in front of him.

"And you don't think it advisable to go look for her?" Loghain asked in a quiet but displeased voice.

"Can't pick the lock," Nathaniel answered him and he very carefully moved his head in his direction. Nathaniel shrugged wearily. "I tried."

Loghain struggled to stand and when he did finally make it to his feet, he was immediately sorry. The room started spinning and his ears felt like they were bleeding, the ringing was so loud. He found himself gingerly sliding back down the wall.

"She's going to be really mad at you for not killing her," Anders intoned sagely.

Loghain nodded slowly. Mad would be a better alternative than dead or worse. He could accept mad if she was still alive and unharmed. Looking around their cell, he would settle for alive, harmed or otherwise, he realized.

It occurred to him, as he leaned his head back against the cool hard stone, that he was without his armor, wearing instead homespun clothes that had seen better days, hanging in tatters. And smelling of…he stopped thinking about the smell. He finally noticed that Nathaniel and Anders were in similar attire. All their gear appeared to be gone.

Just when he was sure his headache would punch a hole through his brain, he sensed a cool spiral of magic flowing into him and he felt immediately better. Anders grinned at him. "Had to wait for my mana to regenerate," he explained and Loghain found himself obliged to the mage, which was not something he particularly wanted to be.

He looked at Anders and realized suddenly why the mage looked oddly familiar. He had Maric's nose and smile, looked in some ways like the Bastard Prince, Alistair. The cocky flirting was definitely a Maric trait. He would have to do some checking into the mage's background. Not that there was any reason to, anymore. He wasn't in a position to act on it even if Anders was another Theirin by-blow. He wondered idly how many of them were out there, waiting to be discovered.

Before he could go too far down a road he wasn't ready to travel, a large group of genlocks came into the room housing the cells and with a series of grunts and growls and brandishing weapons, they dropped some waterskins and something resembling food on the ground and left again.

"What is that?" Nathaniel asked, looking with trepidation at the hard cheese and dark bread.

"Force yourself to eat. When the commander returns, we're finding a way out of here," Loghain instructed and then had to remind himself that he had to do the same. After he ate, he felt slightly less awful.

They waited. And when they got tired of waiting, they paced while they waited. Loghain prowled the cell, feeling along the walls for loose stones or anything else that might give them a way out.

Several hours later, just as Loghain became convinced they had killed the commander, or worse, and that it was his fault for not honoring her request to kill her, a door opened and a group of twenty or more darkspawn entered, carrying the commander and more food. They motioned and grunted and growled so Loghain and Anders moved away. Nathaniel was slumped in a far corner watching quietly.

To his surprise, they didn't just drop the commander on the stone floor, they placed her very gently on the ground and then with another series of grunts, they were gone. Loghain sighed. Twenty well armed genlocks and hurlocks against three unarmed Wardens were not the kind of odds he preferred.

Anders bent over Leonie and Loghain watched from a distance. She was more than pale, she was almost entirely without color and unnaturally still. Anders sat back on his heels, shaking his head. "The bastards nearly drained her dry. She's going to be out for awhile yet and weaker than a newborn when she does wake up."

Loghain moved toward her and hunched down beside Anders. He had a sudden urge to brush her dark hair off her brow and he had no earthly idea why. She looked completely helpless, almost childlike as she lay there and he felt an odd stirring, a desire to protect her. And again, he didn't know why. She was, above all else, an Orlesian. Vicious when she didn't get her way. Ruthless and cunning when she wanted something. A person not to be trusted. With a dry sense of humor. Intelligent. Fierce in battle. Fiery when provoked. Oddly naive at times. She would skewer him if she thought for a moment that he wanted to protect her. And rightfully so.

He was not going to travel down that road either. He had enough to worry about, had never really believed himself to be a man who developed attachments to women easily. In fact, he had fought against any such feelings after Rowan and he was not about to start down that road now. Even Celia hadn't managed to get through the walls he had erected. He felt that deep pang of guilt, of failure, because he hadn't tried hard enough to love her. She had been the perfect wife and it wasn't her fault that he had never wanted a _perfect_ wife, he'd wanted a partner, someone who shared his pursuits and who was not afraid to show her feelings, not afraid to get dirty, not afraid to have her hair tangled and windblown, not afraid to argue with him, to fight for what she wanted. He rubbed his temples with his fingertips. It was the headache, the lethargy from the blood loss that was causing all these unsettling thoughts. He looked over at her.

She was so still.

She was _Orlesian_.

She looked so vulnerable.

She was his _commander_.

He moved to her again. Anders was rubbing one of her hands between his. "Shock from the blood loss. She's freezing."

Loghain reached out and touched her other hand. It was icy. He realized that she didn't look still and pale, she looked dead. She was certainly as cold as death. He growled and sank down beside her as she started shivering. He held her hand and began massaging it with his own. He tried to pretend he couldn't feel the calluses and small nicks and scars that marked her hands as those of a warrior. Hands much like another woman he had known. And there was that road again, the one he was not going to travel.

"Hold her, Loghain. She needs the body warmth," Anders said quietly. Loghain shot him a glare. He would do no such thing. Anders shook his head and then whispered an incantation. He saw the blue glow surround Leonie and flicker out.

"Just pick her up, she won't bite," Anders urged and frowned. Leonie was still shaking like a leaf caught in a windstorm and, with another growl, Loghain pulled her into his lap and wrapped his arms around her, resting his chin on her head to keep her from moving. And he was still not going down that road. But it came to him that he couldn't remember the last time he had held a woman in his arms, other than his daughter. And that made him feel old. The fact that the other two men, far younger, had not wanted to hold her, also made him feel old. They obviously thought it was safe for her to be held by the _old man_. The thought stuck in his gullet, thick with bitterness.

Was it his vanity and pride that prevented him from traveling down that road? Was he so afraid of rejection, of looking foolish and pathetic? How long had it been since he had even allowed himself to feel like just a man rather than a leader of men so wrapped in his sense of duty and honor that he lost sight of who he really was?

Her hair was tickling his nose and he shifted slightly. She sighed but remained unconscious, curled against him, her breathing a gentle breeze against his skin. She felt soft and warm in his arms and that was a thought he didn't need to have. If he didn't get away from her, from the thoughts plaguing him, it would become obvious that he was, after all, just a man. And he was not, by the Maker, traveling down that road.

He concentrated on their cell. It was small. He counted the bars. There were thirty two. He started counting the stones but lost count when she moaned softly, a small sound that destroyed his concentration. He shot a look at the mage who shook his head with a shrug. She was no longer cold and he had no real reason to keep holding her. Her trembling had stopped and continuing to hold her seemed wrong, made him feel like he _was_ an old man, a lecherous old man at that. He eased her back down on the ground and stood up.

"Anders, how many of those darkspawn can you freeze?"

Anders frowned thoughtfully and then said, "Maybe half a dozen if I'm lucky."

Not enough then. That was the real answer. He felt along the chinks in the stone walls, hoping to find something, anything, that would aid them. He did not. He sank down on his heels next to Nathaniel, who was entirely too quiet.

"Did my father really do all those things they say he did?" Nathaniel asked quietly, and even Loghain could hear the anxiety in his voice, the need, and while he didn't want to revisit that particular road either, he knew only the truth would satisfy the boy.

"He did, Nathaniel," Loghain answered.

"And yet he is dead and you are a Grey Warden. Was he not working for you?"

If there was an accusation there, Loghain didn't hear it, just a young man whose heroes had turned out to be mortal and flawed. "Yes," he began and frowned. How much truth did he want to hear, need to hear?

"Then why is he dead? Why aren't you?" Nathaniel asked in that same quiet voice and Loghain found himself reaching out and placing a hand on his shoulder, to comfort who he wasn't sure.

"A question I have asked myself frequently. Perhaps it was because your father enjoyed his role. His motivation was more power. He had designs on the throne. My motivation was the safety and security of Ferelden," Loghain replied with a quiet authority in his voice.

"Or maybe it's just the capriciousness of the Maker conspiring with fate," he finished, thinking that was much more likely the case.

Nathaniel nodded once and then smiled softly. "His eyes were always bigger than his grasp," he agreed and as Loghain watched, he saw a shifting in Nathaniel, a burden finally and irrevocably lifted. Loghain stood and offered the young man his hand. Nathaniel accepted it and stood up.

"She should be waking up soon," Anders said, calling their attention to the commander, who was beginning to stir, just small movements as if she was fighting her way out of a thick fog. Loghain moved to her, knelt down.

There were tears, oozing from the corners of eyes and sliding helplessly to the floor. He reached out with the pad of his thumb and brushed them away. She would be horrified to wake up crying, no sense in letting her believe she had, he justified to himself. Her skin was warmer, the color slowly coming back. Her cheek was surprisingly smooth under the rough pad of his thumb. He saw her eyelashes fluttering and he leaned away, dropping his hands quickly.

"Don't move, Lion. Give yourself time," Anders instructed. "And you two step back, give her room,' he continued and it was his voice now that held quiet authority. Loghain found himself obeying, standing and moving back several paces.

Anders' healing surrounded her in a blue glow and he heard her sigh. "We need to get out of here," she mumbled, sitting up.

"Well, I won't argue that we need to, but we can't. Not until you're stronger. And well, there's the whole locked in a cell thing to worry about too," Anders said and the humor was returning to his voice. Loghain realized with no small amount of surprise that his commander had inspired a devotion in all of them. How had she managed that in so little time?

"And you, Loghain. Did you not promise to kill me?" she asked with a frown in his direction. "Maker, all of you stop looming over me," she added, rubbing her temples.

"I did promise to kill you, should I do that now?" Loghain asked dryly, raising a brow at her, arms folded across his chest.

"If it makes this headache go away then by all means," she responded and her frown slipped, smoothed into a ghost of a smile. Loghain found he enjoyed her smile. And there was that road again. He would have to put up barriers or he would find himself traveling it despite his unwillingness to do so.

* * *

Leonie turned to Loghain, her mouth set grimly. "You will kill me, Loghain, without hesitation. I will not become his personal monster," she ordered, her voice brusque.

"You want me to kill you to protect you?" he asked, appalled.

"Yes, exactly so. This is not a request, it is an order you are duty bound to obey," she added in the same curt voice. There was no time to continue to explain why or cajole the man into doing as she requested. He should understand she knew what she was about. But she turned to him, knew there was a silent plea in her eyes to understand that what she asked was necessary.

"You truly are insane," he finally said and she heard his acquiescence.

"I think perhaps you are correct, but now is hardly the time to discuss such a thing, yes?" she said and flashed him a smile.

"Thank you, Loghain," she said with relief.

With that, she entered the mine. And that gentle tug felt almost like a caress. He was close, very close. She shivered, once, and then started down the steep incline. As soon as she stepped onto the trap, she knew. As the sleep agent took effect and she felt herself sliding into oblivion, she knew that the Architect was waiting for her and that Loghain would not be able to fulfill his promise.

The world was swimming in and out of focus when she opened her eyes. She hurt. Every bone in her body felt fluid, felt hollow. She blinked, trying to bring the room into sharper focus. She heard him then, felt him. He was bending over her, as he had in her very first dream of him, as he had in her very last dream of him.

He was smiling tenderly at her. "So we finally meet, Leonie. After all this time, you have finally come to me," he whispered and the tenderness of his smile was reflected in his voice. She struggled to move away from him but discovered she was tied down, hands bound to the table she was lying on.

"I did not come to be with you, monster. I came to kill you," she whispered. Or did she merely think it?

"That will change, Lion," he whispered and his voice was a flutter of warmth against her skin. Her bare skin.

Holy Maker, where was her clothing? Where were the others? She remembered waking up in a cell, alone and then something, what? The others, being brought in, one by one, all unconscious, lifeless and pale. She had tried to move to them, tried to touch them, to reassure them, but she had been so tired, her limbs so heavy. And then she was drifting in the dark, the horrible creatures carrying her away from her men, from herself.

"Do not call me Lion. You will never be more than a monster to me, creature," she said and her voice had no strength to it, she had no strength.

"That will change, in time." His voice was closer and she shuddered, her eyes sliding shut.

"I will kill myself first," she assured but the weakness in her voice held no threat, nor promise.

"No, Leonie. Your path does not end in death. As I have changed, so shall you," he said, reaching out and caressing her cheek. She tried to pull away from the touch of his cold, boney fingers.

"Do not touch me," she hissed but the hiss was a whisper and she drifted away, into a dark and quiet place, a place of dreams and nightmares.

Duncan was there. She found him in the meadow, under the oak. She made her way to his side. His smile, sad and distant, stabbed into her. She was losing him, he was drifting further from her thoughts. He came to her, put his arms around her and she melted into them. "Please stay," she cried against his chest. "Do not leave me again, my love."

"It's time, my sweet Lion. Be brave. Let yourself love again," he whispered against her skin, whispered into her heart. "I'll be here waiting. But now is not your time to be here." She cried out, her hands twisting in the air as he faded away. She wept, her tears flowing hot and salty.

Loghain was there. His smile, a smile she was imagining because he did not smile, was warm and inviting. She could feel the warmth in it, a brush against her skin and he was holding her, his arms protective and light. She could feel the steady rhythm of his heart beneath his shirt. She felt safe, felt something akin to love, but not the same breathless rush of love she knew with Duncan. It was different and she was not ready for it, felt a moment's panic and she struggled away from him and his expression became hollow and broken. "I can never be him but I can be more than this if you'll just let go," he whispered and he was moving away, leaving only darkness in his wake.

The Architect was there, corrupting her meadow with his foulness. He was floating, pale and hideous, his smile grotesquely tender. "You will find me. You won't be able to help yourself, it's in your blood," he crooned, his voice echoing a forgotten promise, and he reached for her but she was stumbling away, falling and scrambling up, running, her voice a long, high scream.

But then she was on a cold hard floor, shivering with fear, trying to find some warm place, some comfort from the nightmare. And then she did feel warmth, strong arms around her, felt protected and safe. She felt her tension, her fear, begin to slither away from her, into the darkness. She felt the rough touch of a warrior wiping gently at her tears.

When she finally managed to open her eyes, she took in the three men surrounding her and her gaze sought only one pair of eyes, as bleakly blue as a winter sky, and she tried to convey her thanks but found she was so tired, so unutterably tired. Her eyes slid closed again.

She was safe and he was there and that would be enough, it would have to be.

She saw a road stretched before her and wondered if she had the courage to take the first tentative steps down that road.


	14. Chapter 14

**Progress**

Her legs were shaky, her voice even more so, but she stood by the cell door, gripping the iron bars with one hand to keep herself from falling. The Dalish elf was slipping a key into her other hand.

"Go now, while you can," she hissed and then was gone.

"It's a trap," Loghain warned, coming to stand beside her.

"Yes, but it is also our only chance of escape, yes? I would prefer to die fighting than to become a..." Leonie's voice trailed off and she shuddered.

"Then let's go," he agreed quietly and they filed out.

She went immediately to the Architect's lab and bent over his research notes. They were not in a language she recognized but she tore the papers out of the book and slid them into the pocket of her peasant skirt. She looked down at the table she had been strapped to, looking for anything that might give her a clue to the Architect's plans but there was nothing.

Genlocks, when hit with fists, went down much quicker than Leonie would have thought possible. She bent down and began stripping them of weapons, searching them for poultices or potions. Loghain joined her and she glanced up at Nathaniel and Anders.

"Search them, take their weapons, anything of value or use," she instructed. Nathaniel nodded and bent to the task but Anders' face was horrified.

"I don't want to touch that thing," he said with a shiver and stepped back.

"I am not asking you, Anders. I am ordering you to search them. We do whatever is necessary, yes?" She pitched her voice low and firm and he nodded once, a look of revulsion on his face as he bent down. Afterward, she went over to him and touched his arm lightly.

"It is not a thing any of us enjoy, Anders. It is a sad and unfortunate necessity," she explained softly and he grinned at her.

"Oh I know, Lion, it's just…I wouldn't want anyone doing that to me," he explained with a shuddering shrug.

She wanted to hug him. For a mage who escaped the tower seven times he was remarkably naïve at times and too kind hearted. Perhaps that was the reason he had not been successful in his earlier escapes. She did not want him to lose that boyish and gregarious nature of his but she was afraid that he might. Being a Grey Warden was not a life of easy choices.

They had not gone far when Leonie pulled up short. She felt the unmistakable tug of another Grey Warden nearby and began to lead the men in the direction her own taint was pulling her in. Her heart skipped as she thought of the possibility that someone besides Kristoff might have survived.

Keenan. It was Keenan and he was dying, his legs a twisted mass of protruding bones and weeping pus. "Keenan! Andraste's grace, what happened?" she whispered, kneeling beside him.

"Lion. Thank the Maker. You have to stop him," Keenan began weakly. She bent lower, bringing her fingers up to brush his dark hair away from his fevered brow. His tattoo stood out starkly against his clammy skin. He was her friend, a man handpicked for the assignment because of his scouting abilities and he was dying alone in the dark.

"Anders, do something for him," she ordered but he shook his head sadly.

"There's nothing I can do, Lion. I'm sorry."

"No, Lion. Don't waste time on this. Just get the darkspawn who did this."

She nodded and clasped his shoulder. "It shall be as you say, brother," she assured him.

"And Lion, take this ring to Nida. She's in Amaranthine. Tell her I did this because I believed I could change the world, make it better," he whispered and her grief, her sorrow were fresh wounds, raw and aching. She bit back sudden tears.

She slid his wedding ring into her pocket. She remembered when he had come to her, announcing his betrothal, so happy it was bursting from him. She had worried, Nida was not interested in the Grey, didn't have the patience to become a Warden wife but they seemed to be happy and she had stopped worrying in the face of that happiness.

"Shall I leave a weapon for you?" she asked and he nodded, a weak smile skimming across his pale face.

"Now go, Lion. Avenge your brother," he said.

"In death, sacrifice," she whispered and dropped a kiss on his forehead before standing up. And then she was pressing forward.

The sword she was using, taken from a dead hurlock, was poorly made and broke at the hilt when she ran a genlock through with it. Had circumstances been different, she might have laughed. But before she could even grasp the fact that she held nothing but the hilt in her hand, Anders was shouting.

"Creepy guy with my robes! Kill him!" and she had even more desire to laugh because he seemed to be talking gibberish but when she followed his pointing finger, she saw a tainted man, oddly reminiscent of Anders but covered with the black spider webs of corruption. She moved forward. Without a weapon.

Loghain shouldered past her and she nearly stumbled to the ground. She leaned against the rock wall, gasping and light headed, listening to Anders crying out for them to please avoid getting blood on his robes. As Loghain decapitated the eerie Anders lookalike she suspected that request fell on deaf ears.

She was still leaning against the wall when Nathaniel's double appeared. What frightened her the most about his sudden appearance was that he was able to use the Howe bow, the one that only worked for a Howe. How was that possible and what did it mean about these twins of theirs?

"Stay put, you look terrible," Loghain muttered and she grinned weakly.

"Is this where I remind you that you look dour?" she asked and pushed herself away from the wall.

"No, this is where I tell you that you're a fool if you don't rest while you have a chance," he remarked in resignation as she moved forward. She could almost hear his head shaking at her stubbornness.

She helped Nathaniel strip the armor off his twin and then turned her back so he could change into it. He tossed the rags away with a grunt of disgust. She didn't blame him. The tattered clothes smelled foul and were stiff with dirt. Her skin itched where the material touched her.

When they finally killed her twin, she couldn't find her wedding band anywhere and to her horror, she felt tears sliding down her cheeks. Her ring was gone and she knew who had it. And he would pay with his life. She felt a strong hand squeezing her shoulder and looked up at Loghain.

"My ring is gone," she explained, her voice rough with emotion.

"We'll find it, Commander, but now is not the time," he said and though his voice was firm, there was more in it, a subtle flavor of understanding and she nodded silently gathering up her gear and heading behind a large boulder to change.

The buckles proved difficult and her hands were shaking. Beads of sweat were slowly forming along her hairline. She leaned against the rock, hating herself for such weakness, but finally called out for Loghain and he was there so quickly, she knew he had been standing on the other side of the boulder, expecting her need for assistance. He moved her hands away with a gentle slap at them and she stood as patiently as she could while he deftly buckled her armor in place. He was very careful not to touch her bare skin or linger too long on the buckles. Neither spoke but it was not an uncomfortable silence and that, Leonie knew, was progress.

Finally they were all geared again and making their way out of the mine. Leonie was shocked to see a qunari standing in front of her but when she heard he was trading with the darkspawn, and the Architect in particular, Loghain had to forcibly restrain her.

"You would do well, qunari, to trade with us. That creature will be not be alive for very much longer," Leonie assured him and he nodded in understanding and said he would be at the Vigil in a week's time. She checked his merchandise but her ring was not among his wares. She hadn't expected it to be, but she had hoped.

As soon as they entered the large oval chamber, Leonie felt him. She surveyed the room and then saw him, with a tainted female dwarf by his side. Leonie wondered if the woman was Utha, the dwarf that Duncan had told her about, the one who had aligned herself with the Architect. How could a Warden do such a thing? And on his other side was the Dalish elf that Leonie suspected was the missing sister of the keeper they had killed, the woman who had given them the key to their cell. They were up on a balcony overlooking the room.

This, then, was the trap. She didn't have long to wonder what kind of trap. The Architect looked down at them and his smile seemed almost melancholy. "I am sorry I must do this," he said regretfully and then two dragon thralls ripped through the air and landed with a bone jarring thud, their squeals earsplitting.

"Go for the wings first, so they cannot fly," Leonie instructed, bringing her sword and dagger up.

It was a grueling, painful fight as none of them had fully regained their stamina and strength. They finally managed to kill one but the other was proving difficult and they hadn't been able to clip its wings. Loghain staggered back and slipped onto one knee, blood running freely down his arm, half his upper vambrace was missing.

She started to run at the dragon and found that Loghain was out-striding her, his left arm hanging loose at his side. He was yelling, taunting the dragon and Leonie thought he was insane but as the dragon turned in his direction, she understood what he was doing and launched herself at the dragon, catching the wing. She hung on as the dragon tried to spread its wings and let the momentum from that fling her onto the dragon's back. She nearly slipped off, there was no purchase for her feet, and she skittered along its back, sliding her legs down either side of the dragon's neck. She jammed her dagger into the fleshy neck and twisted before dragging her sword up and plunging it into the dragon's skull, where it seemed to slide between two boney plates. The dragon dropped immediately, sending Leonie tumbling from its back, to sprawl at Loghain's feet. He sank down beside her, his face pale, his arm bleeding through the hastily applied bandage. But they were learning how to fight side by side and that was progress.

She leaned against his uninjured arm, exhausted. He was leaning into her as well and she realized they were supporting each other, both too tired to support themselves without the other.

"You are nearly ready, Leonie. We shall meet soon," the Architect said and she drew herself up to her feet, shaking and completely worn out.

"Come fight me now, creature! You will be defeated!" she cried to him but he was already moving away, the two women still at his side. With a sigh, he turned and bowed.

"You will not fight me when the time comes, Leonie. And that will be soon," he assured her. He began to cast a spell and she braced herself, expecting to fall asleep again but instead, with a thunderous rumbling, he caused a cave-in, leaving his escape route completely covered up by boulders.

She sank back down and closed her eyes, wanting desperately to cry in frustration but too tired to do so. She glanced at Loghain, who was pale, eyes shadowed.

"I believe, Loghain, that it is you who looks terrible now," she said with a faint smile. He let out a short bark of laughter.

"As do you, Commander," he responded and his voice was weary and strained but there was humor in it as well.

"So at last, we have finally agreed upon something. This is progress, yes?"

"Indeed," he agreed dryly.

To her surprise it was dark when they left the mine. She had no idea what time of night it was but Nathaniel, looking up at the stars, guessed it was closer to morning than evening. They made their way back to their camp and Leonie half expected it to be torn apart but everything was just as they had left it, hidden in a small group of trees, bound on two sides by large boulders.

She crawled into her tent and began unbuckling her armor. She rummaged through her pack for her linen trousers and shirt and found Keenan's wedding band. She held it tightly in her fist. She may have lost her ring, but Nida would not have to go through that sorrow. She slipped the ring back in her pack.

The tears began again as she remembered the night that Duncan had given her the ring…

_"For you," he said simply, sounding a little anxious. He handed her a small silver box, a lion's head engraved on it._

_"Oh Duncan, it is lovely," she breathed, her fingers examining the delicate engraving._

_Duncan chuckled and replied, "Not the box, Lion. Open it."_

_Inside the box, nestled on dark blue velvet, was a silverite ring with dwarven runes inscribed on it. She recognized the runes immediately. The ring matched his earring, the one he had worn since she was nine years old. She was speechless and the tears were gathering. She stared at it for long moments._

_"Of course you don't __have__ to wear it," he said wryly._

_"I-I do not know what to say, my love. It is quite the most beautiful gift I have ever been given," Leonie whispered thickly and the gathering tears spilled over. With shaking fingers, she removed the ring and slid it onto her finger._

_"A speechless Lion? Unheard of," he remarked dryly but she heard the underlying relief in his voice._

_Unspoken between them was the knowledge that their time was dwindling and soon all she would have of Duncan would be memories and the ring now gracing her finger, as if leaving it unspoken would somehow prevent the truth of it…_

And now the ring was gone, tainted by an unspeakably malevolent creature, a corrupted perversion that had haunted her for far too long. Her memories of Duncan and their time together were all she had to sustain her. Her tears turned into raspy little sobs as she lay curled on her bedroll. She bit down on her blanket, trying to stifle the sounds, unwilling to let her men hear her sorrow.

"Commander?" the voice was soft and low but she heard the concern. "Food's ready."

"Yes, Nathaniel, I will be right there," she said thickly.

She wiped the last of her tears away and scrubbed at her face with her hands. She couldn't really hide the result of her tears, knew that her face was splotchy and her nose was no doubt red, but hopefully the darkness would hide any traces of her self-pity. Her ring was gone but her memories of Duncan remained intact and nobody could take those from her, not even the Architect.

The food turned out to be a thick soup of flatbread and salted meat in an ale broth. They were all busy eating, nobody speaking until the last of the soup was devoured by a very hungry Nathaniel.

She finally raised her head and studied the men sitting with her. Her men. Her command. The exploits in the mine had served to bring them all closer and that was progress as well.

Nathaniel looked relaxed, his habitual brooding brows no longer furrowed, but delicately arched over his silvery grey eyes and in the light he looked almost happy. She wondered what had changed within him to give him such an expression. He glanced up and caught her eyes on him and gave her a slight nod and smile as he continued waxing his bow. She liked the new demeanor, hoped it would mean they could finally develop the type of rapport she had always enjoyed with the men under her command. He was a brilliant scout, a thoughtful and intelligent man.

Anders was busy stroking Ser Pounce, who seemed very grateful to have them all back in the camp. Neither cat nor owner showed any signs of ill effects and she was glad to see that Anders' smile seemed natural and easy. She was relieved. She'd been afraid that the entire episode in the mine would weigh heavy on him, he'd been so repulsed by looting and the need to do so but once she had assured him that if he died and she was able, she would loot him herself, he had grinned and said, "Well that's just my luck, isn't it? I get you to promise to ravish my body and I'll be too dead to care."

She let her eyes wander to Loghain who was studying her just as she was studying her men. She smiled and shrugged lightly. Old habits of command. He nodded, as if she had spoken the words aloud and then he dropped his eyes back to the piece of wood he was busy worrying with a small boot knife. Her eyes traveled down to the wood and she was surprised to see it slowly taking shape. She would not have suspected that he was given to whittling, or any other hobby that required patience. And there was something, a slight quickening of her pulse, a gentle thrum in her blood as she watched his strong hands at work. He looked up at her again and carefully put the wood and knife aside.

"You haven't told me what my part in this game of yours is," he said with a quirked brow. She had a sudden urge to reach out and run her finger along its sleek dark curve. I'm just lonely, just missing Duncan, she told herself. She folded her hands in her lap and tilted her chin slightly.

"I would not dream of having you play such a devious game, Loghain. I ask only that you continue your friendship with Eddlebrek, perhaps suggest that he would better serve his people if he invested in troops or training his own farmers to fight."

"So you don't want me to play the game, or don't think I can?" he asked and there was a deeper meaning to his question, a question within his question.

A few moments passed before she met his eyes and she smiled softly. "I think you are quite capable of playing the game but I believe that you are better suited for honesty rather than games, yes?"

His brow relaxed and there was a hint of a smile tugging the corners of his mouth. "Just so," he agreed. They sat in companionable silence, neither talking nor touching, simply sitting near enough to feel the presence of the other.

And that was progress as well.


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N: **_This is another split chapter, the first part of it from Leonie's PoV and the latter part from Loghain's PoV.  
My thanks to all who continue to review, lurk and alert. _

**Lion's Gambit**

"Nathaniel, is there any way you can slip in and take a look around? See where they are holding the woman?" Leonie asked quietly.

They were all crouched in a shallow ravine near the drop off point known as Forlorn Cove. A well chosen name for the area, Leonie thought, shivering. The wind, whipped by the sea's frenzy, was cold and her cheeks were damp with sea spray, the sound of the surf below wild and untamed. It was a breathlessly bright and blue day and the wind promised the first frost was not far away.

"Yes, stay here," he said in a hushed voice and Leonie stretched out her hand, laying it lightly on his leather clad arm.

"Be careful, Nathaniel. If it is not possible, come back and we will use a more direct approach, yes?" she instructed softly. He gave her a half smile.

"I'll be careful, just stay put," he said and then he was gone and though Leonie looked for him, she didn't seem him. She thought she might have seen a shadow at one point, but she wasn't sure if it was him or the shadows from the trees bending in the wind.

He returned just as quietly as he had left. "Five bandits and a ring leader who's better armed than the others. Eileen is against the wall, just there," he indicated, pointing across the bridge at the ruins of an old house.

"Can you get to her and drag her out of harm's way before we start?" Loghain asked quietly.

Nathaniel frowned. "I don't think so, three of the five men are guarding her. I could try but I'm afraid they'd spot us."

"Then our path is clear, yes?" Leonie began. "We will go in and I will do the speaking. Anders, you will need to be ready to paralyze the man nearest her."

Anders saluted her and huddled into himself as he waited. Leonie stood up and moved to the bridge, the others falling in beside her. She looked far more confident than she felt as she took a tentative step onto the swaying bridge. Loghain started to move ahead of her and she stopped.

Leonie put a hand on Loghain's arm, holding him back. He stiffened and she hastily dropped her hand. "Let me do the speaking. If I am correct, this ransom is a ploy, a way to make me seem like a weak arlessa."

"And if not, you'll find yourself with even more enemies," Loghain finally responded curtly.

"Yes, but it is more likely that the people who napped the kid work for the same conspirators…what has amused you men this time?" Leonie huffed, glaring at an obviously smirking Nathaniel.

"Kidnap. Kidnapped. Kidnapping. Kidnappers," he explained with a chuckle. She heard Anders snicker and even Loghain snorted.

"Is that not what I said? Those who napped the kid? If one can kid nap, can one not nap the kid as well?" Leonie asked innocently but she could feel the heat creeping up her neck. She had been raised to speak the common tongue, her mother was Fereldan and she had spoken that language her entire life but the local dialect and colloquialisms gave her a headache.

Nathaniel shook his head. "No, you can't, unless you're putting him down for a nap," he said on the crest of another chuckle.

Leonie sighed and began again. "Those who are holding the young woman for ransom are most likely working for the same conspirators that wish for my death, yes?"

"I can't fault your logic," Loghain finally said but he sounded less than convinced.

"Then let them hear the lion, let them see her next move and we shall see if they take that gambit to their masters, yes? They have seen me speak of peace and understanding. Let them know I am not weak in seeking such."

Leonie stepped lightly onto the bridge once again, and heard Loghain fall in behind her.

"That's far enough, Commander," a beefy man said, stepping out of the shadow of a gnarled coastal pine.

"You got the money?"

"Take a look at those I travel with, gentlemen!" Leonie commanded loudly. "And then think very carefully about whether you are willing to die for this kidnapping," she added and her voice was steel and ice.

"Anders is a wanted apostate, a mage living outside the rules and laws that govern mages. His magic is far greater than anything you will have encountered from a tower mage, I assure you.

"I'm sure you recognize Rendon Howe's son, Nathaniel, yes? The arling is his heritage and, no matter how much he may despise me, he will not sit idly by and watch you defile his legacy. I pity anyone foolish enough to provoke his ire.

"You cannot help but notice this tall man on my left, either. He is the great Hero of River Dane, General Loghain Mac Tir, a more feared and fearsome warrior and Warden you will not find.

"And I am the Lion of Orlais, so named because I have killed men with my bare hands, dueled Chevaliers and won. I do not think a poorly armed group of bandits and thugs will be difficult to dispatch.

"Do you, men?" she asked of her comrades, and watched as three men dropped their bows and took off, scrabbling like crabs, over the rock and sand before disappearing down the sharp embankment to the beach below. Leonie sincerely hoped they went straight to the mastermind of the ransom plot and repeated her speech.

"We'll kill the girl," the leader threatened but without much conviction.

"Well yes, perhaps you might. But it will be the very last act you perform, I assure you," Leonie said with a quiet nonchalance that seemed to give him pause.

"As I see it, you have two choices. One is to hand over the girl quietly and disappear. The other is to fight us and then, after you are dead, we shall take the girl. The choice is entirely up to you," she continued with feigned boredom.

As Leonie had feared, they chose to fight. Nathaniel had moved close enough to the young woman to grab her and push her down behind the wall and out of the way of any stray arrows. Loghain hit the leader with his shield so quickly the man didn't have time to draw his weapon and by the time he reached for it, Leonie was already there, sword at his throat.

"Death? Or a trip to the Vigil for a trial?" she asked softly, her voice as cold as the wind blowing in from the Waking Sea.

"You Orlesian bitch!" he spat and the unexpected depth of the hatred in his voice made Leonie recoil. It was all the man needed, he rolled over and was up, dagger in hand. She heard the faint hiss of an arrow whizz through the air and hit its target in the throat. The man dropped to the ground.

"Well, I suppose that answers that question," Loghain remarked, looking with grim humor at the body. Leonie nodded, dry mouthed. Had Nathaniel not acted so quickly, she could very well have been injured.

Nathaniel sent the young woman, Eileen Bensley, on her way to her father, who was waiting in a line of trees a safe distance away. As soon as he had finished looting the bodies they made their way to the main road, stopping by the ravine to pick up their discarded packs.

"I don't really, you know," Nathaniel said softly, coming to walk beside her.

"You do not what, Nathaniel?" Leonie asked, puzzled. She shifted her pack and glanced at him.

"Despise you," he answered. "I may have thought I hated you once, but I see now that I hated what happened to our family name. It was easier to believe an Orlesian was responsible for it all rather than my own flesh and blood."

Leonie nodded solemnly and gave him a small smile. "It is always easier to believe the worst of a stranger than believe it of someone you love," she agreed.

"And about the conscription," he plowed on, though she could tell it was difficult for him to discuss his feelings. "I'm glad you conscripted me. I feel like I have a new family. "

Leonie's smile broadened. "And so you have, Nathaniel," she answered softly. He gave her a brief smile and then fell back to walk with Anders.

As she continued along the road, she realized that her acute homesickness had eased considerably and that she too had a new family. Her smile softened. She liked the sound of that. Her steps lightened and the chilling breeze no longer felt so unwelcoming.

Entering Amaranthine, Anders gave her a glare. "I still hate you for this," he began.

"You do not have to do anything but make her think you like her," Leonie reminded him again.

He was to meet Lady Liza Packton at the Rebel Queen's Tearoom and he was not happy about it as. She hid a smile and said, "You are good at flirtatious banter while still keeping aloof, I think you are in no danger, unless you fear losing your heart to the woman?"

Nathaniel snorted and Anders shot him a fierce scowl. "If you think it's so funny, Howe, then maybe you should be the one to woo her."

Leonie gave an exasperated sigh. "On your way, Anders. You do not wish to keep the woman waiting."

He shook his head and trudged off, a man heading to the scaffolds from the look of it. Leonie bit back a laugh and turned to Nathaniel.

"If you think Delilah's life is in any danger, offer her the use of the Vigil. She will be most welcome and I do not want to risk her life," she instructed.

"I will, thank you Commander," he said and then moved off in the direction of Bann Esmerelle's estate to pay a social call before visiting with his sister.

"And what orders do you have for me?" Loghain wondered aloud in a voice that hinted at irony.

"I am going to the Crown and Lion to find Nida. You are welcome to join me. I will be procuring rooms for the night."

She didn't wait for his response but continued on to the inn. After she had procured the remaining four rooms available in the inn, she gave a key to Loghain and went into her room to freshen up. After removing her armor and slipping into her Grey Warden leather tunic and trousers, she sighed, removing the ring from her kit. She closed her eyes, steadying the painful beat of her heart. This too was a duty that could not be foresworn, but she wished to be somewhere else.

Loghain was outside her door. He too had changed and she saw that his hair, newly braided, was damp. He was leaning against the wall, arms folded, ankles crossed, dressed in a dark green linen shirt and leather trousers. He looked younger, more at ease, and she felt again the gentle thrum in her blood, the slight disorientation of butterflies. She closed her door and pushed those feelings away.

"You do not need to accompany me. It is not a pleasant task," she told the tall man standing beside her.

"But one I am quite familiar with performing, Commander," he replied and there was sorrow there, and bitterness in his voice, underneath the usual dryness. She resisted the impulse to touch him, to let him know they shared this common bond of duty. She had already made the mistake of touching him once that day, she would not do it again.

Nida's room, at the end of the hallway, contained a surprise. A tall and broad man with a very proprietary arm around Nida's shoulders. Leonie felt herself stiffen as she looked from one to the other. Nida, her green eyes as hard as jade, stared at Leonie defiantly.

"So, have you come to tell me about Keenan then?" she asked bitterly. Nida motioned for the man to leave and he did so unwillingly, shooting an angry, suspicious glare at Leonie as pushed past her.

"Yes, Nida. I am sorry but he has fallen to the darkspawn. A death worthy of a Grey Warden. He asked me to give you this, to tell you that he died in service to Thedas in the hope of…" Leonie began but Nida swatted her words away, as if batting them out of the air between them.

"Don't. Don't you dare, Leonie Caron! You, who are so wrapped up in duty you don't even see how others suffer! Do you think I wanted to be here? Do you think I wanted Keenan to give anything in service to anyone other than me?" The hot words flew like daggers from Nida's mouth and Leonie felt them as they found purchase in her skin, her soul, her heart.

She thought of Duncan, the little time they had together, the sacrifices he had made to spend as much time with her as he could. She saw Keenan, dying alone and unafraid in a dark mine, his body agonizingly ruined. She could see the faces of all those she had known who had sacrificed themselves for the greater good. She would not dishonor them by beating the bitch of a woman who stood before her. When she spoke, her voice was controlled and as frosty as a Ferelden winter.

"Keenan fought alone in the darkest of places, his body twisted from his injuries, to protect _you_, to keep the darkspawn from killing _you_, or worse, taking you away and corrupting you into something so grotesque it defies description. He did this because he understood what is at stake. He did not do it so you could whore yourself out because you are too weak to be the woman he believed you to be and I am relieved that he will never know the betrayal of your actions."

She grabbed Nida's clenched hand, pried the fingers open and set the ring in the palm of the woman's hand. "You have no idea how fortunate you are to have this," she added, her voice momentarily softer and then she continued once again coldly, "Maker have mercy on your twisted soul."

Spinning on her heel she left, not caring if Loghain followed or not. She was trembling and furious and heartbroken as she made her way down to the bar and ordered an ale. She found a chair and dropped into it, bringing the mug to her lips. She would not allow the tears that shimmered in her vision to fall. She would not.

* * *

Loghain found himself momentarily in awe of his commander. Not by her words, but by her restraint. He had expected her to destroy the woman, physically and emotionally. He wasn't entirely sure that she hadn't destroyed the woman emotionally. He could still see the woman's look of shock in his mind's eye as he made to follow Leonie down the stairs. The woman, however, was still standing and that was impressive control on the commander's part because he had badly wanted to bring his fist up and place it in the woman's left eye with no small amount of force. And that gave him pause. He wasn't surprised or appalled at Nida's actions, he had seen it happen often enough to the men under his command. He had wanted to strike the woman for the terrible grief her words had caused his commander.

He had seen the pain in her expression as she had gently placed the ring in Nida's palm and he knew that she was still grieving because her own ring was gone. It was that need to protect her rising up in him again, that desire to spare her pain and it was both foolish and unsuitable for him to allow himself those feelings. He stopped on the stairs, turning to go back up to his room and away from his commander. Away from the feelings she provoked in him. But he found himself at the bar ordering a pint of ale almost before he had time to talk himself out of it.

He settled across from her, expecting her to be in tears but she was calmly sipping her ale. Her face was pale and her eyes were shining with unshed tears but she offered him a wan smile.

"I did not handle that very well," she mumbled around the lip of her mug.

"You're not going to take her infidelity onto your shoulders, surely," Loghain protested. "You don't think you have enough guilt on them already?"

She gave a wry laugh. "This from the man whose shoulders bow under the weight of his own guilt and regrets?" she asked dryly, looking at him over the rim of her mug.

Loghain made a low sound in his throat, a sound of denial that he didn't voice. Was he really so transparent or had she the ability to strip away his walls? To his amazement, he felt her hand, softly cupping his cheek, and it was all he could do not to lean into the touch. What a pathetic old man, to be so affected by a touch from her. He stiffened and moved away from her hand and his thoughts. He was immediately sorry he had done so.

"I don't need your pity," he said in clipped tones and was sorry for that as well when she withdrew from him. What had come over him to act so? He had not seen pity in her gaze, he had seen understanding and that confounded him, unsettled his careful façade, shifting it and he found it difficult to restore.

She lowered her gaze, finger edging along the rough table, catching on a splinter. He wanted to say something to bring her attention back to the present, to him, but he would not act on it, _could_ not act on it and so he remained silent.

"A wise man once told me that to sow guilt and regret is to reap a bitter harvest," she said quietly. A lone tear glistened as it slowly rolled down her cheek. "It is very difficult to remember at times like this," she added with a sigh.

Loghain found his hands, resting on the bench, had tightened. "And would this wise man be Duncan?" he asked and the coldness of his voice surprised them both.

"No, Loghain. My father told me that the night before he went on his Calling," she said and he saw the frown between her brows, saw her eyes narrow. Felt some remorse at having lashed out at her as if he was a wounded Mabari.

"Duncan was a good man, I hardly think he merits your dislike," she added quietly. "And while I do not presume to tell you how you feel, I think you never gave yourself a chance to know how good a man he was."

She was right, he had never taken the time to get to know the man, had treated him with the disdain and suspicion that he felt any Orlesian deserved. Yet she hadn't condemned him, hadn't been angry. She had merely commented on a failing of his as if it was to be expected.

He picked up his mug and drank, finding it particularly bitter.


	16. Chapter 16

**A Heart Speaks**

"She simpered. She actually simpered," Anders said with a groan of disgust. He put his head on Leonie's shoulder. "I'm scarred for life."

Leonie reached over and patted his cheek and then gently shrugged him off her shoulder. "You will survive," she told him with a grin.

He looked at her, feigning hurt, his face pulled into a sad expression. "The most dangerous assignment I've ever had and you just shrug me away?" he asked. "You are a cold woman."

"I do this to make you stronger, Anders and some day you will rejoice and thank me mightily," she said solemnly and then gave him another grin. He sighed melodramatically and picked up his ale.

"Did you learn anything useful?" Loghain asked and there was no mistaking the sneer in his voice.

"That she likes a man with soft hands. Which, by the way, I don't have," Anders said with another shudder. "And she invited me to have tea with her again. Said she wanted me to meet some friends of hers."

"Well that sounds promising. Well done, Anders. Is your heart still intact?" Leonie teased and he shot her a half smile.

"Well it's safe enough from her wiles, if that's what you mean," he answered honestly.

Leonie glanced at Loghain, who was eyeing Anders warily. She bit back the smile that fought to make its way across her face. She could imagine that Anders was a complete mystery to a man like Loghain. And an annoyance of large proportions. Another smile threatened and retreated.

They had all gathered in a private room just off the main taproom. Leonie had a good view of the patrons and she was watching a brawny man who seemed to be both nervous and shifty.

"Nathaniel, do you know who that rather large man is that is sitting at the table across from the bar? He is wearing a rather fierce scowl."

"Ser Temmerly. He's known as the Ox. Not too bright, loves to lord it over people. Hates Orlesians and authority. I never much cared for him. Why?" Nathaniel asked, slipping into the chair beside her.

"He seems a bit edgy."

As she and Nathaniel watched, a small, seedy looking man with thinning blonde hair came in and stepped close to Temmerly. He dropped something on the floor and turned away, quickly leaving the way he had come. Temmerly bent down and picked it up, slipping it into a pocket.

"I wonder what that was?" she murmured.

Nathaniel grinned and flexed his fingers. "I can find out if it pleases you?" he offered.

"Can you remove it and then replace it?" she asked.

"I can but you'll need to create a diversion," he said. "I'll need a small bit of time to read it before I put it back."

"Oooh, I have the perfect diversion, Lion," Anders cooed, waggling his brows.

"Yes, excellent plan, Anders. We want Lady Liza to think you are just playing with her affections to obtain information," she responded with a shake of her head.

"Or we can dither until he leaves," Loghain interjected dryly.

Without another word, he took her arm and dragged her out of her chair. At her look of surprise he said, "Follow _my_ lead."

With no small amount of trepidation, she let Loghain lead her toward the hulking man and as they drew near, Loghain spun her around and thrust her away from him. She stumbled and practically fell into the beefy man's lap.

"No more ale for you, woman," Loghain sneered.

"Here, what are you about?" he then asked the man, shooting him a withering glare.

Temmerly was staring at Leonie, who had wound up draped around him, half in his lap. She caught movement from the corner of her eye and saw Nathaniel slipping out of the shadows.

"I beg your pardon," Leonie slurred thickly as Loghain growled at the man.

"Get your hands off her," he said coldly but when Leonie tried to disentangle herself, she found his hand in the small of her back pushing her back into Temmerly. She stumbled again and Temmerly reached out to steady her, helping himself to a brush of fat fingers against her breasts. It took every bit of her self control not to shudder.

"Sorry," Leonie mumbled drunkenly, leaning further into him, thinking she was going to flay Loghain as the Ox leered at her and let his hand stray again. As soon as she saw Nathaniel slipping back into the shadows, she pushed away from the repulsive man and Loghain snagged her arm, pulling her back to their private room muttering snidely about women who couldn't hold their drink.

"I shall make sure you are groped by a horribly repulsive, sweaty person the very next chance I get, I assure you," she hissed at Loghain once they were seated at the table.

"I am merely helping expedite your grand game," he replied with a smirk and she shot him a glare. He was enjoying her discomfort far too much. She didn't say anything further, turning to Nathaniel.

"What did you find?"

"It was a map and a time. Tonight, at nine. Ser Tamra's home. I think they mean to kill her," Nathaniel replied and he was pale.

It hadn't occurred to her that he might know the woman. But he knew the Ox fellow so it made sense that he knew Ser Tamra as well. Leonie set her mug down so quickly the liquid sloshed over the rim and she stood up. "Where does she live?"

"About an hour south of here," Nathaniel said and she instructed them to meet out in the stables in twenty minutes, using the back stairs. Temmerly was still sitting there and was now watching them so Loghain bent slightly, his voice soft in her ear.

"I apologize for this," he said quietly and slung an arm around her shoulder, pulling her to his side as they made their way up the stairs. As soon as they were out of his sight, Loghain dropped his arm and moved away.

"Coward," she whispered and when he shot her a quizzical look she merely stepped into her room and shut the door, reminding her heart, who was speaking rather loudly, that it had only been a ruse, that it hadn't meant anything, that his arm only felt right because she was lonely. And then she told her heart to be quiet and focused on strapping into her armor.

Nathaniel led them through a series of alleyways and out a rather small gate on the southern edge of the city. The moon was rising, a pale orange ball that seemed to hang like ripe fruit on a vine, low and heavy. She pulled her cloak tightly against a very brisk wind.

"Do you know Ser Tamra well, Nathaniel?" she asked somewhat breathlessly as they hurried along the rutted road.

"I used to, before I was sent away to the Free Marches. She's an honorable person," he said and increased their pace. Leonie, possessed of long legs, was skipping to keep up with his strides and she could hear Anders gasping for breath as they rushed swiftly onward.

The estate, little more than a farmhold, was dark as they approached and Leonie felt a quiver of fear chase along her spine. She stopped them and had Nathaniel slip in quietly through the shadows to make sure they weren't walking into an ambush.

"She's alone, even her servants are gone."

Leonie frowned. "Why would her servants be gone?"

Loghain said grimly, "Maybe they were warned to be gone tonight."

Ser Tamra was shocked to see them but ushered them in quickly. Leonie explained what they had discovered and the young woman's face paled.

"We can take you to the Vigil immediately. Or, if you agree to this, we can lay a trap for Temmerly and his men. It is possible we may learn more about the plot in this way, yes? However, it is dangerous. I leave it up to you," Leonie explained and waited for the young woman's decision.

Ser Tamra gnawed her lower lip and paced the length of the room, glancing occasionally at Nathaniel for guidance. Nathaniel smiled slightly and said softly, "You can trust us, Tam."

"Then let's try and trap these bastards," she finally said and the strength of her voice gave Leonie hope that the entire conspiracy would finally unravel and they could spend their time finding the Architect instead of chasing around the countryside quelling assassination plots.

Leonie studied the woman. They were of a height and their builds were similar. "Have you a nightcap, Ser Tamra?" she asked as her plan formulated in her mind.

Ser Tamra stared at her as if she'd asked for a trip to the moon, but finally nodded. "Excellent. I propose to borrow this and lay in wait, in your bedchamber. Nathaniel, you must find a safe place for you and Ser Tamra. Anders, under the bed for you and Loghain…"

"You will not," Loghain said quietly. Leonie saw Nathaniel and Anders exchange alarmed looks. Another fight, the look said.

"We have no time for this, Loghain," she said firmly and turned to look at Nathaniel again. "Go quickly, Nathaniel. When all is clear, you will know, yes?"

"As you wish, Commander," he said briefly and taking Ser Tamra's arm, they left the room. Leonie was shrugging out of her cloak and began to unbuckle her armor. Loghain was there to help speed the process and he was not happy.

"I suppose you could take my place in bed. Certainly you and Ser Tamra are of similar build, yes?" she snickered as he pulled at the laces of her cuirass.

"You have a death wish, madam," he replied and the exasperation in his voice was plain to hear.

"I suppose I must since I drank the blood of darkspawn," she agreed cheerfully and it was Anders who snickered at that remark.

"At least keep your dagger under the pillow," Loghain admonished as she slipped the nightcap over her dark hair. They stuffed her armor into the armoire and then she slipped into bed, sliding her dagger under the pillow and pulling the covers up. Loghain turned the lamp down low and found a spot on the other side of the armoire, sword drawn and waiting.

"So, when I tell others about this, and believe me I will tell others about this, I can let them know you were on top," Anders whispered and she big back a laugh.

"This, my friend, is as close as you will ever get to such a thing," she whispered back and then fell silent, waiting.

A floorboard creaked. A hinge whined. Leonie gripped her dagger, willing her heart to beat steady as it seemed inclined to pound like the hooves of wild horses. It was loud in her ears. A change in the air around her and the sound of breathing coming closer told her that her prey was near.

She shot upright, her head back, colliding with the man bent over her. She saw pinpoints of light dancing in her vision at the impact and she shook her head. The man was beefy but hard of head.

He stumbled back, cursing as she was rolling off the bed, dagger in hand. Loghain turned the lamp up and she found herself staring at a very surprised Temmerly. He held a dagger in his hand as well and slashed out at her but she was already moving away, the dagger swishing through the empty space where she had stood seconds before.

"Stop those other two!" she commanded as she moved into Temmerly's reach and brought her dagger up.

"On it," Anders called over his shoulder as he ran from the room. Loghain moved in behind Temmerly and held his sword against the man's thick neck.

"Drop your weapon," he ordered, his voice cold and commanding. The dagger clattered to the floor. Leonie kicked it away.

"You would find it in your best interest to tell us who ordered you to kill Ser Tamra," Leonie said quietly as she watched the man's face. He was afraid. She could smell his fear, see it in the glazed expression in his brown eyes. But she wasn't foolish enough to think he would talk.

"I won't tell you a bloody thing, _Orlesian_," he blustered and then let out a howl of pain as Loghain's pommel caught him on the side of his head. He dropped to his knees and Leonie knelt in front of him.

"You have two choices, Temmerly. You may tell us who ordered this assassination or you may keep silent and die. The choice is entirely yours," she said quietly.

He leaned close to her and spit. "I'll tell you nothing," he swore, his voice equal parts venom and loathing.

Leonie felt the spittle running down her cheek and for the space of a heartbeat, felt a rage that demanded his death but she neither wiped the spit from her face nor killed him. After only a moment of silence to bring herself under control she laughed, mirthless and cold.

"As you wish. Kill him, Loghain," she commanded and stood up.

"No! Wait, Teyrn Loghain!" the man cried, panic chasing away the poisonous hatred of earlier.

Leonie was already standing up and she looked down at the man, her expression unruffled.

"You are wrong, Temmerly. Loghain is no longer a teryn, he is a Grey Warden," she said softly. "And I am his commander. He is duty bound to obey my orders," she finished with deadly calm.

Loghain pushed the tip of his sword against the meaty flesh at the back of Temmerly's neck. "She's right and your time is running out," he agreed coldly and the threat of it hung in the stillness of the air around them.

Temmerly leaned forward and shook his head. "If I tell you, they'll kill me. I'm already dead," he whimpered and the fear in him smelled of cold sweat and desperation.

"Then your way is clear, yes? Die a hero or die a coward," Leonie responded in that same deathly quiet calm.

She saw the moment he decided to fight, the calculated look, the movement of his hand, a surprisingly quick movement for a large, bulky man. In the low lamplight, she saw the glitter of reflected light off steel.

"Dagger!" she yelled, jumping back but he didn't come after her as she had expected, he bent lower and threw himself back, driving into Loghain's knees, causing them to buckle and the two men landed on the floor with a loud thump, clumsy and off balance. Loghain's grip on his sword was loosened by the fall and it dropped to the floor beside him.

Time seemed to slow, to stretch out and compress as she saw Loghain reach out for his sword, saw the sudden blooming of a red rose on his neck as the dagger flashed against his skin. She moved forward, and it seemed to take her forever to reach out and grab Temmerly's hair and pull his head back. Seemed an eternity as her dagger drew a deep line along his plump neck. And then she felt a snap as time caught up with her and then went speeding by. She pushed the dead body off of Loghain and knelt by him. Heard herself calling for Anders in a high thin voice.

Loghain's eyes were closed and she reached out to press against the flow of his blood. Before she could touch him, Anders was there and pushing her aside. She saw the haze of blue surrounding Loghain that meant Anders was already healing him. Nathaniel and Tamra came into the room.

"The blade must have been poisoned. I can feel it but I don't know how to cure it," Anders said and there was a note of panic in his voice. Leonie had to let go of her own panic and take control of the situation but her brain was working in a fog and it wasn't until Nathaniel knelt down and took Temmerly's blade, sniffing it, that she even understood what Anders had said.

"I know this poison. The antidote is easy enough if we can find the ingredients," he said and was already up and running. She heard the clatter of his boots on the stairs, Tamra close on his heels, and still her sluggish brain would not clear.

She moved over to sit beside Loghain, brushing the hair away from his pale face. His skin was cold and clammy and she moved her fingers along the stark planes of his face to stroke his cheek lightly.

"Do not dare to die, Loghain," she ordered and her voice was gaining strength as her brain finally caught up with the events.

Nathaniel came back in with a cup in his hands a several long moments later. "Arrowroot, marrow vine, and elfroot," he explained and forced Loghain's mouth open. She held his head tipped slightly as Nathaniel poured the mixture down Loghain's throat. She clamped his mouth shut and didn't let up on the pressure until she felt the reflexive movements of his throat muscles and knew he had swallowed.

As they waited, Leonie sighed tiredly. "We need to dispose of the bodies and make it seem as though Temmerly has left town. We need to get Ser Tamra to the Vigil without anyone noticing her. Varel can find her a room and keep a guard on her but only someone he trusts."

She looked at Anders. Usually he was so unflappable, so flippant. Now he stood still, grimly so, and looking as exhausted as she felt. His eyes had taken on that green hue that she had seen the only other time he had looked so serious. He was scared, afraid that he had not acted quickly enough to save Loghain. She was surprised that he cared, and glad to see that he did.

Nathaniel was calm, as unruffled as ever, his face a quiet mask of confidence. She saw that he had his arm lightly placed along the ridge of Ser Tamra's shoulders and she felt a low swirl of emotion in her. A relief that he was steadfast, a reassurance that he was so capable and willing, and a happiness that perhaps he had found someone to ease the pain of his father's betrayal.

It was decided that the men would take Tamra back to the Vigil and meet back at her place in the morning. Loghain would sleep for hours as the antidote worked its way through his system and she would stay and make sure he rested once he woke up. She gave Tamra her Grey Warden cloak and instructed the young blonde to keep the hood drawn about her so the soldiers at the Vigil, and anyone in the employ of the conspirators, would think it was her. They first moved the bodies into a cold cellar and Leonie was thankful that Temmerly's body was gone.

Anders, just before leaving, came and put a hand on her shoulder, squeezing gently. "He'll be alright, Lion. Try and get some sleep."

Leonie reached up and patted his hand, resting her head against him for a moment. "Thank you Anders," she said simply. With another squeeze, he was gone and the house settled back into the stillness of the night.

Leonie came to sit on the edge of the bed, resting her hand lightly on Lohgian's. She felt the gentle thrum in her blood, the tug of attraction that she had kept pushing away.

He was everything she should despise. He was arrogant and taciturn, cool and aloof. He hated Orlesians, detested her very foreign ways. There was no hope for anything to come of it but her heart, as she had once said, wanted what her heart wanted. And her heart was speaking to her, telling her what it wanted. She should ignore it. She should cover her ears and refuse its whispered desire.

No good could come of this. They were so different, so at odds. But she reached out and stroked his forehead, let her fingers unravel his braids and travel their silky length.

And for a moment, she listened to her heart as it spoke to her.


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N:**_This may be the last update until the 26__th__ or 27__th__ of Sept. as I'll be out of town (anniversary cruise). I hope to post a chapter tomorrow but have a mile long "to do" list.  
Again, my many thanks to all who lurk, alert and review. Knowing people are out there reading and enjoying the story is so encouraging_**.**

**Small Victories**

Dawn was slowly losing its greys in favor of pale peach clouds and milky blue skies. The wind had not died down and Leonie could feel the nip of the cool air through the cracks and crevices of the window frame. She glanced at Loghain, who was still sleeping. He had awoken once, late in the night, and been restless and irritable. She had stroked his brow and he had gone back to sleep without ever saying anything. At least anything intelligible.

The others would be back in a few hours and then they were returning to Amaranthine. She would have to consider leaving Loghain behind so that he continue to recover. A discussion that he would not find pleasing, she was sure.

She went back to the chair by his bed and sat down, pulling a blanket tightly around her, as if to imprison her hands.

She had found it almost irresistible, the pull of his skin. Her fingers had kept going back to trace the angles and planes of his face, to run lightly through his dark, silky hair, to skim along his battle scarred hands. She couldn't help but wonder what those hands would feel like against her skin and she felt the heat of a blush whisking up from her toes to the roots of her hair at the thought.

Leonie felt ridiculously young and foolish as she sat there resisting the urge to touch him yet again, and suspected if she was caught by Loghain he would have had quite a lot of unpleasant things to say to her. Yet there she was, sitting beside him, wanting to know his history. How had he come by his scars? What colored his voice with bitterness and regret at times? Why was he so afraid of happiness? Why was he so wary of human touch?

He moved restlessly in his sleep again and she leaned forward, cupping his cheek, caressing the skin beneath her fingers, and he moved away from the touch with a murmur but she could tell that he had drifted back into a deeper sleep. She reluctantly removed her hand.

He was not an unattractive man, especially now, when the constant sneer was smoothed and softened in sleep. And there was a power in him, a charisma, that was undeniable, even as he slept.

With a sigh, she closed her eyes, trying to turn her mind back to the matters at hand and away from her traitorous heart, which seemed disinclined to leave her alone with her own thoughts. She leaned forward, against the bed, and her hand crept out from its prison and she found his hand, cool and dry against her fingers.

She was surprised, seeing his bare shoulders above the blanket, at how broad they were, how strongly muscled and defined. She fought the desire to touch him there as well, fought the longing in her to run her fingers along the prominent scar, the dip as it neared his breast bone. She needed to move away again. Between her disloyal heart and rebellious fingers, she was going to find herself extremely embarrassed if Loghain woke.

"Do you always molest sleeping men?" Loghain asked quietly, a certain dryness in his tone.

Leonie felt the blush, having just receded, start to return along its earlier path. Guilty fingers slid back into the folds of her blanket as she nearly threw herself backward in the chair to put distance between them.

If the Maker truly exists he will open the ground beneath my feet, Leonie thought. And though her embarrassment was nearly crippling in its intensity, she felt relief, as well, that he was awake with no apparent lasting effects from the poison.

"Of course, it is a very Orlesian thing to do," Leonie finally replied and her voice quavered far less than she had thought it would. She somehow found the courage to meet his eyes and was amazed to see laughter lurking there.

"Why am I not surprised?" he asked with a slight groan as he struggled to sit up. The bed linen did not come with him and she forced her eyes away from the sudden expanse of his chest, bared before her. She had a sudden need to do something, to move, to run. He was closing his eyes again, resting his head on the wall, exposing the long column of his muscled neck. She swallowed and forced herself to look away again.

After a moment of silence, Leonie stood up, and with a nearly incomprehensible mumbled excuse of going to get him tea, she was down the stairs and in the kitchen in a very short amount of time. She splashed cool water on her face and busied herself with stoking the fire and going out to fill up a large kettle at the well. The cool air was refreshing against her overheated skin.

"Maker, I am such a fool," she muttered to the kettle as she hung it on the hook and moved it over the fire. "You would think that I could show at least a modicum of self restraint," she continued, castigating herself as she found two rather chipped mugs for their tea. "It is not as if he wants some Orlesian woman throwing herself at him," she added, thumping the mugs down on a rickety wooden table. And why did she feel inclined to do so?

Without remembering doing so, she made tea for them and gathered the mugs, making her way back upstairs, trying to keep her expression serene instead of flustered, although she wasn't entirely sure she succeeded.

He was sitting up in bed, his chest still bare. She took a deep breath and handed him a mug of steaming tea, her eyes darting around the room to find something, _anything_, else to look at. Rebellious fingers twitched as they held her mug.

"Anders and Nathaniel should be here soon. We need to return to Amaranthine but I think perhaps it would be better for you to stay in bed, yes?"

Loghain lifted a brow at that and Leonie felt herself frowning at those familiar dance steps once more. Or perhaps her emotions were just getting tangled up with her duty.

"You were poisoned, Loghain. You received a significant wound to your neck. Rest would not go amiss," she said after the silence had become unbearably long. Hateful man, she thought and finally raised her eyes to his.

"If I were a younger man, would you be suggesting that, I wonder?" he asked and his voice held that wistful sadness in it and his question was another one of those questions within a question that he was quite adept at.

"Age has nothing to do with my decisions, Loghain. I suggested that you rest, I did not order it. And even though you do not always behave as such, I have been assured that you are intelligent enough to make your own decisions with regard to your health."

He tilted his head slightly, studying her and she found the color sweeping into her cheeks again. "Age has nothing to do with any of your decisions?" he asked in that same voice.

"Would you feel happier if it did? Would you feel _safe_r?" she asked as her anger flared, catching them both off guard. "If there is a question you wish to ask, Loghain, ask it."

"I am old, Commander. Old enough to be _your_ commander, old enough to be your _father_," he said and there was a bitterness in his voice again, laced with regret. "How can you not see me as anything else but old?"

"Tell me Loghain, do you see nothing but an Orlesian when you look at me?" she asked quietly and found she was holding her breath, waiting for the answer. She watched the struggle in him to answer, to face the answer and give voice to it.

"Not always. Less these days," he admitted carefully and somewhat reluctantly after some minutes, minutes in which Leonie was sorry she had asked the question. Relief came to her then, a warm and tingling surge in her blood, wrapping around her heart like a caress.

Reaching out, Leonie gently cupped his cheek again. He did not pull away, but neither did he acknowledge it.

"You see age where I do not," she replied softly, holding his gaze. "You wish it mattered to me because it would be easier for _you_, I think," she continued.

And then, to her surprise, he leaned into her touch and closed his eyes briefly. "Then Amaranthine it is," he said and was already moving away from her touch.

A victory, no matter how small, was still a victory.

* * *

"So, Lion, tell us about the duel," Anders urged, sidling up to her as they walked along the road.

"It is not a romantic story, Anders. In point of fact, there is absolutely nothing romantic about the Chevaliers. They are the scourge of Orlais, its most disgraceful citizens," she replied, surprised at how outraged she still felt over the death of Marliss at Maraville's hands.

"I'm sorry, Lion. It certainly sounded like a romantic story," Anders replied with remorse, his expression contrite. She gave him a reassuring smile as they walked along the dusty road in the mid morning sun.

"So many people see them as romantic figures but I assure you, not all Orlesians think so, especially those who have suffered at their hands."

"I suppose the teeth biting episode isn't romantic either," he said rather glumly and Leonie chuckled.

"No, I do not suppose it is," she agreed. "Life is never quite as romantic as the poets suggest." They traveled on quietly after that.

"Why are we going to Amaranthine, exactly?" Nathaniel asked some time later, matching his steps with hers.

"To win the hearts and minds of her citizens," she answered promptly.

"How?"

"We are going to find this band of smugglers and put them out of business and we are going to make sure that the citizenry understands that it was the Grey Wardens and the Arlessa of Amaranthine who did so, and not the Bann of Amaranthine."

Loghain made a noise of disapproval. "That will only serve to paint a larger target on your back, Commander."

"The target is there, size is hardly relevant," she responded.

"So all this time I was wrong? Size doesn't matter?" Anders asked over Nathaniel's sudden laughter.

Leonie blushed and shook her head. "Is there anything you cannot turn into a lewd remark?"

"I'm not sure, Lion, but I haven't found anything yet," Anders returned, preening.

She was still smiling ruefully as they walked through the large gates of the city. Constable Aidan met them and once again his eyes went first to Loghain for guidance.

"We have come to find these smugglers, Constable Aidan. Tell us what you know of them," Leonie said, forcing his attention to focus on her.

Smugglers fell much easier than darkspawn and, in a matter of an hour, the last of them had been rounded up or killed. One of those killed was a soldier in the city guard. When she told Aidan about it, he was shocked and dismayed and very apologetic.

"The low wages, they force men to desperate actions," he reasoned without any real conviction. Leonie ignored his excuse.

"There are crates of smuggled goods in their hideout, including food. I want the goods and food distributed, beginning with those most in need. If you cannot determine who those might be, talk to the Revered Mother, she will know.

"I also want those refugees outside the city gates allowed in. They are no less worthy of protection than the citizens within these walls. Find shelter for those who need it and tell them that in return, they will be expected to help with the fortification and repairs to the city walls and any other such labor as is necessary," she ordered in a voice full of confidence and authority. Even the constable would have to recognize that she, not Loghain, was the commander and the arlessa.

"Yes Commander," the constable replied with a respectful bow.

"I have seen beggars who act with more honor," Leonie said in disgust as they made their way to the Crown and Lion for a noon meal.

"And I have seen the very wealthiest resort to worse," Loghain said quietly. She glanced at him, walking beside her, and he returned her gaze steadily. There was a flash of regret there and then gone, so briefly present that she might have imagined it, had his mouth not been set in such a grim, thin line.

Sitting down in the common room of the tavern, they ordered enough food for a small army and ate in silence. Leonie watched the patrons through the veil of her lashes and noticed one man, in particular, who seemed especially interested in their group.

As they finished the meal Leonie said quietly, "Nathaniel, I would like you to be angry with me and leave the tavern in a huff. If I am correct the gentleman with the ginger hair will follow you. Do not let him catch you. Just walk as if you are letting off steam and then come back, yes?"

Nathaniel acknowledged her request with a barely perceptible nod and then pushed away from the table, nearly upsetting it. He picked up his mug and Leonie felt the sticky amber liquid splash across her face and run in rivulets down the front of her breastplate.

"Enough!" he shouted and stormed off. Leonie pushed back her chair and found her way to the stairs and went up them to her room. Everyone below heard her door slam, she made sure of it.

With a sigh, she started unbuckling her armor and shivered as the liquid continued trickling down her skin. He had a surprisingly strong flair for the dramatic in him, she thought wryly as she splashed water into her basin.

A loud rapping at her door a minute later was not unexpected. She was only surprised it had taken him as long as it had. She pulled her leather tunic over her and called, "Come in," as she began to buckle the belts into place.

"Are you insane? Do you want to be killed?" he began and his anger was like a cold wind.

Leonie sat on the edge of the bed, pushing her feet into her boots. She gave him a small, unperturbed smile. "No more than any other person, I imagine."

"This is not some game, Leonie. These people, whoever they are, will not stop until you are dead," he growled.

"Ah, but it _is_ a game, Loghain. One that I am very good at playing. We are winning the hearts and minds of the people of this arling. In so doing, we tighten the noose around the conspirators, forcing them to become clumsy, to make a mistake," she returned with another smile, this one broader because he may not have noticed it, but she had. He had finally used her name and not her title. Another small victory.

Loghain's anger was not assuaged by her explanation. He was moving restlessly, a cat on the prowl. "You are the most frustrating…" he snarled and then trailed off as she laughed.

"Yes, I am sure I am frustrating, stubborn, opinionated and difficult. Have I missed any other of my sterling qualities?" she asked when she had her laughter under control.

"Impossible," he said in a less frosty voice. "Incomprehensible," he added as an afterthought.

"You see, Loghain, we are not so dissimilar after all, are we?" she asked and found herself grinning at his sudden loss for words.

He strode to the door and turned, giving her a half smile, before he left, closing the door softly behind him.

And that was another small victory as well.

They left an hour later, headed back to the Vigil. Leonie wanted to restock their supplies before leaving for the Blackmarsh.

Anders was the first to hear the cries for help. He started running ahead and Leonie had no choice but to follow him. She could hear the others in close pursuit.

A woman, surrounded by a group of bandits, was busy calling for help and trying to defend herself. Leonie drew her sword and dagger and lunged at the man closest to her. He brought his sword up and parried, bringing a dagger up on his follow through that bit into her flesh. She wished, as the pain sizzled along her nerve endings, that she had put her heavy armor back on, rather than the light leather tunic she was wearing. She brought her dagger up and lunged again. The dagger slid into the man's heart without resistance and she was on to the next.

When the last of the bandits was dispatched, the woman thanked them all. "I'm on my way to Vigil's Keep with a load of trade goods. I hear the new arlessa has made the trade routes safe again. I want to meet this paragon myself," she said with a grin.

A pretty woman with deep red hair and flashing dark eyes, she smiled at each of them in turn, her eyes lingering on Anders.

"Well here's your chance," Anders said, indicating Leonie with a wave of his hand. The woman looked startled, then embarrassed and finally she laughed good naturedly.

"Well, the rumors about you are not without merit, Arlessa Leonie," she said brightly and Leonie couldn't help but return the infectious smile.

"I'm Lillith. I hope you will have room for me at the keep," she added merrily. "I've a cart full of goods that might interest you."

"You will be most welcome at the Vigil, Mistress Lillith. We are on our way there now, if you will allow an escort," Leonie responded. The woman whistled sharply and an ox, looking old and tired, pulling a laden cart, moved with slow deliberation. Lillith climbed up onto the cart and took the reins.

"Anders, ride in the cart with Lillith and we shall meet you there," Leonie instructed and Anders fairly leapt onto the hard bench beside Lillith. With a snap of the reins, the ox started forward with only a bit more speed.

"I think we'll beat them by a wide margin," Nathaniel snickered as they headed out. "And I feel for the poor woman, having Anders as a companion."

"I believe she is quite capable of fending him off should she so choose," Leonie responded and then grimaced as she felt a pain in her side. She reached down to examine it and brought back a hand stained with crimson.

"Oh," she said quietly. "Perhaps I should wait for Anders to heal me," she added and sat down rather abruptly in the dirt. Loghain was there immediately, muttering about death wishes and stubborn chits and she found herself smiling at his obvious concern.

"It is only wounded flesh, Loghain," she said with a grin and suddenly both he and Nathaniel were laughing, Loghain's a deep rumble of rust, but a laugh all the same.

"Flesh wound. It's a flesh wound," Nathaniel corrected and chuckled again, but she wasn't listening to him. She had heard Loghain's laughter and that too was a small victory, one that made her insides feel warm and fluttery.

Before she could say anything, Anders was there and with a few words and the glow of blue, she felt his magic surround her and her pain faded into a memory. She straightened up and smiled at Loghain.

"See, nothing to get all blustery about," she said as she stood up.

"Thank you Anders. You are a healer without peer," she added, and not giving Loghain time to argue, she started walking toward home.

Small victories in a long campaign, she thought, but couldn't stop the smile that spread across her face.


	18. Chapter 18

**Courting**

Green leaves were reluctantly giving up their color in favor of the gold and scarlet as autumn began courting the land. Summer seemed inclined to submit to its ardent pursuit.

Leonie, staring out the window, wanted the darkspawn threat to be eradicated long before winter but if Varel and the people of the arling had their way, she would never leave her office. She sighed and turned back to her desk, pushing away memories of a trip to Goldenvale in the fall, where she had received her ring, the one that no longer graced her finger.

"I think we should investigate that chasm before we go to Blackmarsh. That's very likely the source of the darkspawn incursions," Loghain said, entering her office with a fist full of map.

Reluctantly, Leonie turned her gaze away from the past and back to the present. "I know you are right, as much as I loathe saying that, but I worry about Kristoff. He is a friend; he was my second in Val Royeaux. His wife is a friend and she will be here any day. I would wish to have something to tell her," she responded and frowned.

"Did I just hear you say I was right?" Loghain asked, eyebrows raised, as he spread the map across her desk, trying to smooth it out over the mounds of paper now underneath it. With a shake of her head, she picked up the map and went to a table, set near the fireplace, and carefully spread it flat.

"Yes, yes, a banner day. Bring forth the heralds, let it be announced throughout the arling," she responded sarcastically.

He snorted and bent over the map, running one long, tapered finger west to a small speck on the map. And for some reason, she was transported to a ship, a different map, a different mood and the tears gathered. She pinched the bridge of her nose, willing them away. Would her grief always come so unexpectedly to her? Just a whisper of a memory and the wound would open again, as if the scab never truly formed?

"Well?" Loghain asked somewhat impatiently and she realized he had been talking to her and she hadn't heard a word he had said.

"I apologize, I did not hear you," she said quietly and it was her tone that made him glance up at her over his shoulder, a question formed, unasked but there in the shape of his arched brows.

"It is nothing," she answered and bent over the map beside him but she couldn't concentrate. She finally stepped away and went back to the window.

"Commander?" he asked and when she didn't respond, he continued, "You are unusually distracted."

Two men were sparring in the training yard and she watched them dancing around each other, blunted swords in hand. And that too brought memories of sparring sessions and triumphant crowing and Duncan. She leaned her forehead against the cool window.

"What is it? Have you had another nightmare?"

He had stepped closer. She could feel his presence in the air, as if the man himself was a force of nature.

"I do not think you truly wish to know, Loghain," she responded quietly and moved to her desk.

"I wouldn't have asked if I was afraid of the answer." His voice was just as quiet with a hint of dryness. He stood, map in hand, waiting with surprising patience.

Would he really want to know that her grief, her wound, was open and raw and that she felt vulnerable and unsettled because of it? She couldn't imagine he would but he was not moving. She opened her mouth to speak but no words came out and then Varel was there before she could form the words.

"The vassals are gathered and we are ready to present the first case, Commander."

Sighing, Leonie nodded and smoothed her skirts. She would rather be wearing her armor and out in the field with her men, fighting darkspawn. As Arlessa Leonie, hers was the right of high justice. _As if I know the least thing about Ferelden laws and how to interpret them. _

"I would very much appreciate your help in these matters," she said to Loghain and then almost laughed at the look of panic that skittered across his face before it fell into its customary calm façade.

"I think Varel is much more in a position to advise you in these matters, Commander. I doubt they want to hear from me," he finally remarked, his voice cool and aloof.

She had upset him with her request, he was pulling into himself. She couldn't blame him, she could feel herself doing the same. She stared at him for a long moment. They needed to talk but now was not the time.

"Very well, we will meet back here after lunch to discuss Knothill Woods," she said and heard Varel cough and Loghain snicker.

"Knotwood Hills?" she corrected with a question and the grief, that draining sorrow, lifted then and she smiled.

"Just so," Loghain agreed and she followed Varel to the throne room.

The first case broke her heart. A young man, Alec, so desperate to feed his family he had risked death? A man with that kind of grit belonged in the ranks of the army, not at the end of a hangman's knot. And so she said. Garavel stuttered but she turned a haughty look in his direction and he bowed slightly.

"And Ser Alec, when you report back here tomorrow, you will bring your family, yes? They will be fed here," she said quietly and the man's eyes welled with tears. "But in return, you must train hard, be ready to defend the lands with your life," she added sternly and the young man straightened and met her eyes.

"You have my word on that, Arlessa Leonie," he swore and she nodded. He would make a fine soldier.

Even more difficult was the case of the young woman who had deserted her duties as a sergeant to see to her family. She understood the woman's need to make sure her family was safe but desertion was a serious offense and a light sentence could lead to future disciplinary disasters, as even more soldiers would think it was acceptable to leave their posts. A commitment to service involved sacrifices, even when those sacrifices were difficult to make. She must ensure other soldiers understood that. Leonie felt her heart constrict as she pronounced her sentence.

"Danella is sentenced to one year in prison, with forfeiture of all pay and loss of rank," Leonie declared and hated herself for it.

Varel leaned closer and whispered, "Your decision was just, Commander, never doubt it." It did little to cheer Leonie's spirits.

She was surprised to see Lady Liza standing in front of her, as well as a young man of small stature with penetrating gray eyes.

A land dispute over a piece of property she had no idea even existed, or even what importance it might hold. Ser Darren pleaded his case articulately. Arl Rendon Howe had taken the property from the man and given it to Lady Liza for loyalty to the arl during the civil war. Leonie stared at the woman and felt a momentary pang for Anders. She would have to do something to make it up to him. The woman really did have a horse face.

"Did Queen Anora not declare that the former Arl Rendon Howe was a traitor for his actions at Highever Castle? That all lands, titles and properties he held from that time and on were to be stripped from him?" she asked, pitching her voice loudly, so that those standing at the back of the room also heard her words.

"Yes, but that declaration was made after the Blight!" Lady Liza protested, her face twisted in anger and something more. Hate. Not the hate that came with sudden outrage, but a simmering hate that confirmed Leonie's suspicion that Lady Liza was involved in the plot to assassinate her. Her stomach lurched in the face of such hate.

"The action resulting in the loss of Rendon Howe's properties occurred before the disputed property settlement and therefore is rendered null and void by Queen Anora's declaration. The land will revert to its original owner."

Lady Liza drew herself up and opened her mouth to speak but Varel's voice, loud and commanding, announced that court was no longer in session. People began to file out of the throne room and Leonie felt weak, wanted to sit and rest her head on her desk and weep. Instead, she stood tall and straight next to Varel, thankful for his steadying presence, as the throne room slowly emptied.

"You don't have to do this, Leonie. Varel, as the seneschal, has the authority to preside over the court," Nathaniel said, coming to stand beside her.

"You were here the entire time? I did not see you, Nathaniel," Leonie said and was dismayed to hear how shaky her voice was now that it was all over.

"In the shadows. I admit that I was curious to see how you would mete out justice. Much more fairly than my father ever did," he answered in a voice that was heavy with the bitterness of betrayal.

Leonie looped her arm through his and flashed a smile up at him. "I cannot give this over to Varel until the arling has truly accepted me as the rightful arlessa. To do otherwise would show I was weak. And while I feel that way at the moment, it is perhaps hunger that weakens me, yes?"

Nathaniel laughed, and she saw the gleam in his eyes that told her he was moving away from the bitterness, just as she had moved away from her earlier grief. They entered the dining hall still laughing and the weight that had pressed so heavily on Leonie was gone.

"Thank you for being there, Nathaniel. Although, had I known at the time I would have been far more nervous."

"It's good to see that you care about the people, Commander. When I look back at things I see now how little he did care for them. For us," he said and then shook his head and smiled again.

"I'm going to take lunch up to Tamra," he added, speaking softly and she nodded.

"Tell her I hope that she shall soon be able to return to her home, yes?"

He nodded and she sank into a chair, too drained to do more than just sit. Loghain looked across the table at her, frowning again.

"Do I look so terrible?" she asked, running her fingers through her hair.

"That is a question that has no correct answer. But then I suspect you know that," Loghain replied, returning to his mug of cider with a slight smirk.

"Ewww, you look terrible, Lion," Anders said a moment later, flopping into the chair beside her. Loghain's snicker was just loud enough for her ears.

"There are those three words again," she accused, glaring first at Anders and then Loghain.

"He's right, you look terrible," Loghain agreed.

"Sadly, you do not look all that dour today. Shall I anger you so that you do?"

Anders laughed. "Well you sure made Lady L angry. She was ready to tear your hair out."

"Did you comfort her?"

"I let her know that you were not a nice person. She invited me to a meeting next week to discuss how not nice you are."

She patted his cheek. "Well done, Anders," she said with a delighted smile.

"I'm still not happy about this whole courting Lady Horseface thing," he replied and took a pastry from her plate with a cocky smile.

"I am a terrible person, is that not what you keep saying?" Leonie teased and then pushed her plate away.

"Oh, right. You are a terrible person. And mean. Did I mention mean?" Anders asked, frowning fiercely at her.

"Well if you are quite done insulting your commander, I shall take my leave of you," she responded, and with another grin, went back to her office.

It did not surprise her when Loghain joined her moments later. What surprised her was how her heart fluttered and pounded when he did so. He brought the map with him and as he smoothed it out on the table, she came to stand beside him.

"Are you ready to pay attention now?" he asked quietly. "Or are you ready to talk?"

That took her by surprise as well, that thoughtfulness, that willingness to listen to her even knowing he might not want to hear what she had to say.

She glanced over and realized he had shut her door and found that too made her heart dance wildly. "I do not wish to burden you with my personal problems, Loghain," she began and he turned, capturing her chin with his finger and thumb, tilting it up, forcing her to look at him.

"Did I not say I was willing to hear whatever it was that was distracting you? Did I also not reiterate that very fact a moment later?" he chided, his voice a velvet fog that enveloped her, caressed her.

She felt herself swaying toward him. She saw it in his eyes then, his desire for her, but it flared and was gone, a flickering flame that extinguished itself before it had time to become a fire. She was sure he was going to kiss her and she found herself hoping he would be instead he released her chin and stepped back, folding his arms across his chest, waiting for her to speak.

"I think I am prepared to pay attention now," she said, licking her suddenly dry lips. He nodded and if he was disappointed, he didn't show it. Relieved more than likely she thought without rancor.

"I suggest we leave early. It will take us at least two full days to make it to there. There is a small road, off the West Road, that should cut several hours off the trip."

"Two full days provided we do not encounter any bands of darkspawn or bandits. Maker forbid we have an easy journey," she responded and heard him chuckle.

"Yes, trouble seems to follow you," he agreed drolly and it was her turn to chuckle.

"I shall go and speak to the cook about supplies if you will let Anders and Nathaniel know of our plans."

The men gathered in her office after dinner and she brought out a bottle of fine Antivan brandy. They discussed the events of the day and the plans for their trip to Knotwood Hills. Leonie enjoyed their company, felt they were all more comfortable and the bonds of friendship growing stronger.

"I know that you don't like talking about it, Lion, but I really am curious about the whole teeth killing incident, I mean I'm _really_ curious," Anders said as she refilled their glasses. "And you do owe me, for you know, Lady Horseface."

"I admit I am curious too, Commander," Nathaniel agreed, leaning forward slightly in his chair.

Sighing, she set the bottle down and nodded slightly. "But I will tell it only once, Anders, and then I do not wish to speak of it again, yes?"

And so, sitting in her office, surrounded by her men, with a fire crackling gleefully, she began an abbreviated version of Montran and how he met his demise. While she tried to keep her tone light, she knew her emotions were sometimes reflected in her voice. As she finished the tale, she heard Loghain's low growl that signified he was angry or disapproving. She hadn't expected that. She turned to look at him and found his hand was gripping his goblet so tightly,his knuckles were white, his jaw clenched.

Anders, looking as horrified and contrite as it was possible to look, finally spoke. "I – I'm sorry, Lion. I would never have asked if I'd known."

Leonie looked at him and smiled reassuringly. "That was several years ago, Anders, and I have moved beyond his reach, yes? There is no need for you to feel badly."

Nathaniel and Anders left shortly after but Loghain sat there, still silent and still looking angry. Rubbing her temples with her fingertips, Leonie waited for the storm to break around her. No doubt he thought she was a barbarian for biting a man to death. And there had been times when she had felt the same way.

A log in the fireplace popped, sending a shower of sparks into the room. They fell like golden rain on the thick slab of the hearth, harmless and beautiful. Finally Loghain spoke.

"You should have told me. I would never have treated you so roughly the other day if I'd known," he growled and his anger, she realized, was not directed just at her, but at himself as well.

"I should tell you every story that has shaped me, Loghain? Why would I do this? You do not share your stories with me," she replied with a hint of resentment.

He snorted. "You want me to share my stories with you? They are full of my hatred of all things Orlesian. I can't imagine why _you _would want to hear them," he said harshly.

"Ah, I see. I am not Leonie tonight, I am the _Orlesian_," she replied and the resentment died away, killed by the sadness of knowing that he would still see her in that light.

"Thirty years of hate can't just melt away in the space of weeks," he responded and stood up.

"Please, Loghain. I do not wish to fight. I do not wish to have this argument with you," Leonie whispered, exhaustion creeping into her.

"Nor do I," he replied but the coldness was still there.

The tears that had threatened earlier in the day hovered again, waiting for release. She refused to grant it.

"I am tired, Loghain. So if you have anything else you feel you need to say, please do so now."

She stood up as well, moving restlessly around the room. Her fingers were clenched in the folds of her dress, her back stiff and angry. Why must everything come back to how Orlesian she was? Could he not learn to see beyond that for more than a few hours at a time?

Loghain was there in two strides, standing before her and his expression held confusion, the signs of an internal battle.

"Give me time, Leonie," he said and then was gone.

As she lay in bed, understanding came to her. She could not throw herself at him, as she had done with Duncan. Duncan had been a man confident in his own skin, Loghain was not such a man. His damnable pride, his own self doubts, would not allow her pursuit of him. He knew she cared for him just as she now knew that he would have to be the one to lead the dance, that he would have to pursue her.

It would be, she thought wryly, an interesting courtship.


	19. Chapter 19

**A/N: **_Back from the cruise and it was fantastic! This was not the chapter I wrote on my trip at all. Not sure where it came from but when the muse speaks, I have no choice but to listen. _

**A Gathering Storm**

Morning broke over the landscape dark and gloomy, storm clouds roiling in the northern skies, the wind a harsh mistress pushing the clouds relentlessly south.

Leonie, standing on the ramparts, felt the push of the wind against her and she widened her stance to keep from being pushed aside by it. Her cloak billowed around her and she felt the restless energy of the gathering storm all around her, felt it deep within her as if she was connected to the currents of the wind and the rumble of the thunder.

"I think we shall have to wait a day or two for Knotwood Hills," she said reluctantly, addressing the seething skies.

"A wise choice, Commander," a voice from behind her said and she startled, nearly losing her footing.

"Loghain, you are up early," she finally said in a voice that belied her agitation.

"As are you, Commander," he agreed, coming to stand beside her.

She glanced up at him, seeing his calm façade as he looked out at the approaching storm. He smiled slightly. "You will not find any answers there," he remarked dryly and continued to watch the storm. A distant rumble of thunder shook the air, as if punctuating his words.

"I suppose I never shall," she agreed quietly and turned away, moving to the stairs. She could not help but wonder if today he saw her as Leonie or simply an Orlesian and a part of her did not want to know.

She heard his steps following her as she made her way down the winding stairs. It didn't matter, she told herself as she walked briskly to her office. There was so much that needed done, too much that required her attention. She could not afford to keep dwelling on those things she couldn't change, such as the storm that was about to break over their heads.

Varel was in her office wearing his customary armor and grim countenance. "Commander, there are rumors that Eddlebrek is not opening his grain bins as he should, that people are becoming angrier the hungrier they become. Word has it that the freeholders are planning something."

Leonie sighed heavily as she sat down behind a mound of papers. "What of our stocks? Do we have enough to share with the others?" she asked quietly, already knowing the answer.

"Not if we are to make it through the coming winter," he replied evenly. He was such a steadying presence, her seneschal. She had come to rely on him for so much and he was a rock in the ever tumultuous seas she seemed to live in now.

"Then we shall have to talk some sense into Eddlebrek and I shall send for help."

"From Orlais?" Loghain sneered from their adjoining door. She shot him a glare. She had her answer in those two words. She was Orlesian again. Or still. It hardly mattered anymore, she tried to tell herself but it hurt, nonetheless.

"No, Loghain. From my uncle in the Bannorn. Perhaps he can persuade others to help supplement our stocks. And I shall write to my stepfather as well," she responded, showing him her displeasure with a scowl.

Loghain had the grace to look slightly embarrassed at her words. She continued in a cool voice, "And perhaps you should write your daughter and see if she can provide some help as well, yes?"

"I doubt that she has anything to spare. The south was destroyed by the blight, as was half the Bannorn. It will be a hard winter for all of us," he answered and the bitterness in his voice was matched by the look in his wintery blue eyes.

"Ah, and this too is the fault of the Orlesians. The ones you held back at the border who could have stopped the blight before it destroyed half the farmlands of Ferelden," she replied, her tone no less bitter, her anger acute and sudden.

He pushed himself away from the doorframe, where he had been leaning and moved closer to her, his eyes brittle and icy.

"Yes, of course it is my fault that the Archdemon chose Ferelden to invade," he snarled.

Leonie's laugh was mirthless and she glanced up at the portrait of Duncan. "No, I do not blame you for where the Archdemon chose to amass his horde, Loghain," she said and as quickly as her anger and bitterness had flared, it was gone. Her anger was personal and had no business interfering with her duties, she knew that, but at times it caught her so completely off guard that it bit right through her carefully constructed walls.

"Ah, but you do, in point of fact, blame me yet for Duncan's death," he said and it was then that Varel cleared his throat and quietly left the room.

"I have told you on any number of occasions that I do not blame you for Duncan's death and I am tired of telling you this over and over. Why is it that you think I hold you accountable?" she asked finally, resting her chin in her palm, her eyes flashing.

Loghain leveled a glare at her. "Because every time you look at that portrait, I see it in your eyes, Commander. Do you think I am completely blind and unfeeling?" he ground out after several moments.

A flash of lightning lit the room, followed by a great swell of thunder that seemed to reverberate throughout the walls of the keep and writhe within her. Leonie pushed her hair back and sighed.

"You see a woman who misses her husband. You must have felt the same when your wife died, yes?" she asked softly, standing and moving to his side. She did not touch him but she studied the play of emotions on his usually guarded face.

"Do not," he began and his voice was thickened by emotions that he had buried. "Do not try to poke a stick at me to see if I will react," he finished and made to move away from her nearness.

"It is not a stick, it is the hand of a friend, who understands loss and bitterness and regret, Loghain. Why is it that you do not wish to see this?" she continued in the same soft tones.

Silence, broken by the muffled thunder and howl of a harsh wind, settled between them and Leonie was not sure how to break the silence of if she even should. She stared at his hard, unforgiving face, stifled the urge to run her fingers along the unhappy set of his full lips. He would not appreciate her touch now, that much she was certain of.

Finally she went and sat back down at her desk, pulling out a fresh sheet of vellum. "If you wish to continue to blame yourself for your past mistakes, for regrets you have, I cannot stop you, Loghain, that much has become apparent."

"And is that not what you do, Commander? Blame yourself for your past mistakes and the regrets you have?" he asked softly and she watched as he moved to her desk and towered over her. She fought the urge to shrink in on herself, to pull away from the powerful energy that radiated from Loghain in his anger.

Leonie brought her fingers up and massaged her temples. "I do not wish to discuss that any more than you wish to discuss your regrets," she found herself saying through a veil of sudden tears. She blinked them away.

"No, I don't imagine you would," he remarked quietly, his voice hard and tight. "Yet you expect me to. You don't see that as blatantly hypocritical?" he asked sarcastically.

"You are a person under my command. It is my duty to ensure that those under my command are in the best of physical and mental health. Surely, as a former commander yourself, you understand the need for this, yes?" she retorted, equally as sarcastic and caustic.

His oath was colorful and short. "Andraste's ass, you stubborn chit," he ground out and spun on the heel of his boot, marching stiffly from the room. She flinched, putting her head down on her desk, wishing she had just kept her mouth shut. She stayed that way for several minutes, trying to restore her calm.

"Hey, Lion! We aren't going to go slogging through muck and mire to find a chasm today, are we?" Anders asked, popping his head in the door. She raised her head and looked at the mage with a slight smile.

"We are not. Your magnificent robe is safe," she agreed and pushing her chair back, she stood.

"Please let Nathaniel know, Anders. I need to let the cook know as well."

Varel found her in the dining hall a few minutes later. She was drinking a cup of tea and munching thoughtfully on a buttered scone when he sat down across from her.

"You have come to chastise me for my dealings with Loghain," she remarked dryly and he smiled.

"Not at all, Commander. I am simply here to remind you that he might be the best one to approach Eddlebrek. They seem to have a rapport," Varel answered but his eyes, kind and patient, held a reproach in them as well.

"I do not understand why he is so easily able to anger me," she said on a soft sigh. "He makes me feel extremely inept and foolish at times."

Varel's smile broadened. "Much as you make him feel, I would imagine," he remarked and stood up.

"As soon as you have your letters written, I'll send a runner out. The sooner we get this resolved, the better," he added and with a slight nod of his head, he left her to her thoughts.

She swallowed the last of her tea and stood. He was right, of course, and if she would not let her emotions take control of her, she would have seen it for herself. Perhaps she had and simply refused to acknowledge it. She knew she was fighting her growing feelings for Loghain; that it felt at times as if it was a betrayal of both Duncan and Riordan. She took that guilt out on him, she knew, feeling remorseful and angry with herself. It was certainly not his fault she had come to care for him. In fact, he seemed intent on making sure she did not have feelings for him, she thought ruefully.

As she made her way back to her office, she stopped by Varel's office and smiled at him. He was so much like a father to her, guiding her with a very quiet demeanor, steady and calming. "Varel, if you would, have someone take down Duncan's portrait and put it in my bedchamber. I would ask you to find a neutral painting to hang in its place, yes?"

"As you wish, Commander," he replied in approving tones and returned to his task.

She made another stop in Loghain's office. He was bent over his desk, frowning at the training reports and didn't hear her as she approached.

"Loghain, I would ask that you speak with Eddlebrek regarding the wheat bins. He seems to hold you in high esteem and is more likely to accommodate the request coming from you, yes?"

Loghain didn't look up but he nodded and Leonie bit back the sigh that was trapped in her throat. Stubborn, impossible man, she reflected with a wry smile as she went back to her own office and began to write to her uncle.

After she had given her letters to Varel, she made her way out to the courtyard to speak with Voldrik. "How is the reconstruction coming along?" she asked the dwarf who gave her a nod of respect.

"That granite found in the Wending Wood will help, Commander. Once the walls are fortified, I'll stake my reputation and life on them."

"Excellent. How long before the task is complete?"

"Another two weeks, but three would be better," he added quickly and she grinned.

"We can all use more time, yes? But the storm approaches, my friend, and we must be content with what little time we have before its arrival," she replied with a laugh as lightning lanced across the sky in vivid agreement.

"Aye, that we must," he agreed and the deep roar of thunder almost drowned his reply out.

The wind whipped up, pulling at her cloak and she stood for a moment, letting the play of the wind swirl around her. Rain was soaking the air, she could smell the dampness of earth carried on the wings of the wind.

She made her way next to the stables and Vixen was pawing and whickering in agitation at the approaching storm. She brought out an apple and her small boot knife and fed part of the apple and calming words to her horse. It seemed like months since she had ridden and the urge to do so was strong but now was not the time. She glanced around the stable at the only other horse there, a black monster that rolled his eyes and stamped his hooves into the ground, every bit as agitated as Vixen.

"Hey there, handsome, who are you?" she asked quietly, moving slowly toward the horse.

"Taranis," Loghain replied quietly, coming into the stable. "And if you value your life, do not approach him without a treat, he is mean tempered."

Leonie snorted. "Hardly a surprise," she responded dryly and held out half an apple for the beautiful horse. He nickered and rolled his eyes again, stamping impatiently, pawing at the ground but she held her hand out, steady and sure.

"Come along, fellow, do not be afraid of an Orlesian bearing gifts," she murmured in a soothing voice and Taranis flung his head toward her, staring at her. She returned his stare, holding the apple out and he bent, a tickle across her palm as he took her gift. She rubbed his nose softly and he rolled his head into her touch.

"He is a wonderful creature, Loghain."

Loghain moved forward, staring at her. "That's a bit of a surprise. I expected him to nip you at the very least," he responded, patting the horse's side with a resounding thump.

A flash of lightning and a crash of thunder almost immediately after told Leonie the storm had nearly reached them. The wind shrieked around the corners of the stable, whistling shrilling. Both horses complained and Leonie went back to calm Vixen. It was then she noticed that Loghain had changed into riding clothes.

"Surely you do not mean to go out in this weather, Loghain?" she protested as she watched him gathering his tack.

"I'm Fereldan, I do not melt in bad weather," he replied dryly and she felt her ire rising once again.

"Nor do I, for all that I'm _Orlesian_. I simply have more sense than to ride out in a storm of this magnitude and naturally I assumed you would have that same sense," she answered and her anger laced her words with sarcasm.

"The sooner I speak with Eddlebrek, the sooner we can get on with the business of finding the Architect."

Leonie's hand stilled on Vixen's neck. She turned and eyed him shrewdly. "You do not need to do this today, Loghain. Whatever your motivations, this storm is deadly."

As if to underscore her point, the lightning flashed again, so brightly that it left afterimages in her eyes and the thunder was so loud it felt as if it was echoing through her blood and bone.

"Your concern is touching," he said cynically and Leonie barely repressed the need to grab him by his hair and tug painfully. _Stubborn, foolish man_.

"You would prefer I did not care at all, I presume," she bit out, moving away from Vixen so that the horse would not become even more agitated by her emotions, which were now barely under her control and slipping away with each passing second.

"I would prefer if you did not feel some odd compunction to argue with everything I do," he growled impatiently and swung back to slide the saddle onto Taranis.

"Do I need to make this an order?" she asked with hot ferocity. Damn you, don't make me do that, she pleaded silently.

His hands hesitated on the cinch and his body stilled. "And would you?" he asked coldly, quietly. She could feel his anger, the ice from it sheathing her.

"If that is what it takes to make you see reason, I suppose I would, yes."

He dropped his hands and moved to her, his face closed, his mouth taut.

"You need to focus on the Architect. On finding him and destroying him before he destroys you," he began and his voice was strained and hard.

"Why do you care?" she prodded, moving closer to him, their faces inches apart. "What does it matter to you if the Architect finds me? I am _Orlesian_. Surely you would prefer that I.." she pushed on but he stopped her, his gloved hand coming to rest against her mouth.

"Don't," he said urgently. "Don't say that," he continued and his fingers, still clothed in the soft leather, moved and stroked her cheek lightly.

Leonie stilled beneath his touch. She wanted to lean into it, to feel the warmth of human touch on her, to feel the comfort of it but she held still, her breath caught in her throat. One move the wrong way would destroy the sudden fragile tenderness in his voice.

The storm broke overhead, the sound of rain on the wooden roof a steady drumbeat, as wild and fast as her own heartbeat as she stood, his fingers still gentle on her cheek. The wind cried shrilly as it battered at the stable walls and thunder crashed around them, drowning out the sound of the rain momentarily. She stood still, waiting for him to move again but he stood there, his eyes closed, his fingers unmoving, as if he too were afraid to break the spell that held them there in the raging storm.

A flash of lightning, a roar of thunder and wind and rain beat in unison against the earth. The horses, in unison, began to stamp and neigh in fear. Leonie blinked, knowing she should move to calm Vixen but unable to, transfixed by Loghain's fingers, once again moving across her cheek and down to her lips. She swayed slightly, her body's need to touch his almost overwhelming now.

With a thunderous crash, the doors to the stable were flung shut and they were pitched into darkness. But she didn't notice, her whole being focused on the fingers that were now unsheathed and the calluses of a warrior's hands traced the curve of her lips, the planes of her cheeks.

"Don't," he whispered and she didn't know if he spoke to her or himself. She stood quietly, fighting for a patience she wasn't sure she possessed.

Taranis reared, his hooves striking the wooden slats of his stall and breaking the spell.

"We'd best settle them and get back into the keep to ride out the storm," he said brusquely.

Leonie nodded, dry mouthed and wanting, but moving to calm Vixen.

The gathering storm had broken. Would a calm follow? She rather doubted it but the hope was there, beating wildly in her heart.


	20. Chapter 20

**Broken Dreams**

Bright blue skies greeted Leonie the next morning. She dressed in her riding leathers and pulled her cloak off its hook before going down to her office. The plan, Loghain going to see Eddlebrek while she visited some of the poorest farms, would have them both back at the keep by midday in the hope that they could get some hunting in as well, to supplement their own supplies and perhaps even share with the poorer farmholds.

Loghain, as Leonie had suspected, was not very happy to hear that she would be riding the countryside on her own.

"Is it that you are afraid I will get lost or that someone may try to harm me?" she asked finally as they all met over breakfast. Loghain snorted derisively.

"Ah, a bit of both," she said and gave him a pert grin. "You have no need of worrying, I was up half the night studying the maps. I am fairly certain if I keep the towers of the keep in sight, I will make it back fine."

He quirked a brow at her and she turned her back on him. "As you can see I am not wearing my target today so I shall be safe, yes?"

Anders and Nathaniel both laughed and even Loghain chuckled but she noted that his eyes remained serious. She reached out and patted his arm, despite his flinching at the touch, and gave him a reassuring smile. "I will be careful, Loghain. And I have been told by several people that I am actually quite adept with a sword."

She removed her hand and went back to eating her breakfast. "Although, I admit that I am considerably less adept with a bow, for all that I had a Dalish hunter instructing me. So there will be no laughing when we go hunting this afternoon, yes?" she said with mock seriousness and Nathaniel grinned.

"No laughing, got it Commander," he remarked and then snickered. "Would that be acceptable?" he teased.

They were all in good spirits, Leonie realized, as if the storm had somehow washed away tensions she had not realized were there. And though she and Loghain had studiously avoided each other the previous evening, she felt somehow that they had reached a new, if somewhat tenuous and undefined, accord.

After breakfast, Leonie stopped by her office to pick up her kit and she folded the map carefully, slipping it into the kit before buckling it shut and sliding it onto her belt. She glanced up to see Loghain lounging against the door jamb and smiled.

"Are you here to scold me again?" she asked lightly and then saw that he was not looking at her but at the new painting, a landscape of the Bannorn, that now hung on the wall over the fireplace.

"I am not sure where in the Bannorn it is, but it is quite lovely is it not?" she asked lightly.

"Not far from Rainesfere, I believe," he said quietly and she could tell he was curious but knew he would not ask where Duncan's portrait had gone.

"Ah. I hope, when things here settle down, to take a trip to the Bannorn and visit with my mother and my uncle. Perhaps I can find this place," she said and settled her cloak around her shoulders.

He came to her suddenly and put his hands on her shoulders, looking at her with a serious expression. "I would ask that you not do this but I know you won't listen to reason so at least be careful," he instructed and his voice sounded angry.

"You would be wise to do the same, Loghain. You are not beloved by all the people in the arling," she reminded him but she took no umbrage at his tone. That he was concerned and that he had touched her was remarkable. He dropped his hands as suddenly as he had placed them on her shoulders and she saw bright spots of color appear on his high cheekbones.

As she was saddling Vixen, she could not help but think of the storm yesterday, of Loghain's surprising tenderness, and she felt a thrum, a rush of heat through her. Did he even know how he affected her? She doubted it. He seemed obtuse in the extreme when it came to emotions, especially feminine emotions.

Just as she was leading Vixen out of the stable, Loghain arrived and he too was dressed in his riding leathers. She saw the dark curling hair just below his throat, where his shirt points were open and she resisted the urge to reach out and run her fingers through it, to feel its springy silk against her skin. She blushed at the thought, looking away quickly.

"Good luck, Loghain," she said only and with a grin, she mounted and gave Vixen her lead, the wind cool and fresh upon her face, the sun warm and brilliant.

It was a brisk autumn day, the fragrant crispness of dying leaves mixing with the pungent aroma of newly dampened earth. Leonie's heart felt lighter than it had in a long time and she found herself smiling as she cantered along the rain softened roads. Today was a day when she believed in the endless possibilities of life.

She remembered a day when those same feelings had come to her…

_As they rode out of the gates and toward the city of Jader, Leonie could not help the laughter that bubbled up within her. Her heart felt lighter, her grief and fear peeling away slowly, layer by layer. The day only added to that feeling of lightness. Like so many days in Orlais, the sky was flawlessly blue with a temperate wind that brought the scent of spice and flowers with it, tickling her nose. The horses whickered and neighed as they rode side by side. It was a day made for riding. For freedom. For being in love. Leonie laughed again, the joy in her sparkling like a precious gem._

_To her great relief Duncan was more relaxed. He seemed at peace, as if his own struggle with guilt had been waged and he the victor. She glanced at him as they cantered along the dusty road and she caught him smiling at her, could feel his love wrapping around her. Her heart fluttered and swelled. This was a rare, perfect moment where sky and earth and man and woman came together in complete harmony._

_A single perfect moment, captured in her heart forever…_

But the dreams she had held in her heart that day had broken into hundreds of painful shards, so fragile and precious and then gone. As she rode along, with the sun a radiant reminder of life, she thought about Loghain, questioning whether it was even wise of her to dream new dreams. Would they be broken as well? Was he worth risking her heart over? He seemed so determined to keep a wall between them and she wondered if he might not be right in doing so. But her heart, she realized, was already held captive by him and the dream, no matter how broken it may become, was just beginning to form. She was not sure she wanted to start down a new path, but she was equally unsure whether she could prevent it.

She reined in, surveying the landscape before her, so different from Orlais. The gently rolling seas of grass shimmering like gold in the bright sun, stretching out in every direction, looking wild and untamed as they rippled in the brisk wind. This was her land now, her home. And she knew that with the new land came new dreams and no matter what happened in the future, this too was a single perfect moment, when her own heart rippled in the brisk wind of a new home. She smiled as she edged Vixen onward.

The first farm she came across was little more than a hovel and a small patch of brown earth, spoiled by the Blight. A woman, worn and wrinkled from hard work, stood hanging out dingy clothes, three little ones playing listlessly nearby.

"Good morning," Leonie said, reining in Vixen and sliding down from her saddle. The children all ran to the woman and tugged at her skirts, hiding behind her.

"I am Leonie Caron," she explained softly, and reached into a saddlebag for the loaf of apple bread that the cook had made for her. She extended it and the woman eyed it with suspicious brown eyes. With a shock, Leonie realized the woman was probably near her own age, but appeared so worn by life as to be years older.

"We don't need charity," the woman huffed proudly. But the youngest, a boy who looked no older than four, was reaching out with hungry, achingly small hands for it, his own brown eyes huge in his gaunt face.

"Nor do I wish to give you such. I have come to see what we can do to improve the situation," Leonie explained quietly, trying to keep her anger and sorrow at bay.

"Ethan," the woman began but Leonie crouched down near the boy, breaking off a piece of the bread and holding it out.

"It is not charity, it is a hand extended in good faith," Leonie continued as the young boy, Ethan, reached with eager hands and snatched the bread, stuffing it into his mouth.

The woman's face relaxed and she nodded. "Go ahead, Lindsey and Samuel," she instructed quietly as Leonie offered the other two children, tow headed and brown eyed like the youngest, the bread. They gladly took the offering. Leonie extended the loaf to the woman, who took it and then looked around furtively.

"Name's Amaryllis and I thank you for your kindness," the woman began, handing back half the loaf.

"Handrin will not be happy to see me accepting handouts from the likes of you," the woman explained apologetically.

"Handrin is your husband?"

"Aye, he's gone into Amaranthine, looking for day work."

"The Blight has tainted your land, I fear. No crops will grow here for some time to come," Leonie explained. "Have you had darkspawn about?"

"Aye, came through here and caused a fair bit of havoc afore they took off, but none of us was plagued," the woman explained.

"Are there others that have had similar problems?" Leonie asked, her heart breaking to see the hunger and fear in the faces of the children, the grief and weariness of their mother.

"Oh aye, young miss. A fair number are in the same predicament, you ken. Not much can be done with the land but there's naught else to do for us. We're farmers, not tradesmen or suchlike."

Leonie stood up and reached into her kit, pulling out a sovereign. "It is not much, and it is not charity. I want you to report to the Vigil. We need workers there and you will find the work hard and the pay little, but there is food there and safety."

Amaryllis shook her head. "Reckon we can do that for you, but you canna take all those who are hard struck, you ken? There's too many."

Leonie's heart sank. Of course she couldn't take them all, and she felt a wave of anger at the futility of her gesture, her inability to do more than offer bread when people needed so much more.

"I have sent for more supplies to get us through the winter, Mistress Amaryllis. I will do all I can to help each person in the arling that requires it but it will take time," she began and the woman nodded, a small smile flittering across her worn features.

"All a body can ask of you," the woman agreed. "You'll see us at the keep tomorrow, and I'll spread the word that help's coming. But you'd best be careful, young miss. There's a fair bit who want to see you fail. They'll not stop 'til they succeed or die trying, you ken?"

Leonie nodded and bent down to pat Ethan's cheek. "You must come visit Terrill, our cook," she told the boy and then stood up again.

"Who, in your opinion, is the most in need?" she asked quietly. The woman scratched her chin and then nodded.

"Flann and Oris, over the ridge yonder. They have six young ones and another bairn on the way. They'll need help and gladly accept it if you make the same offer. But best be wary of Flann's brother. He's as rowdy a man as you'll find and not one to leave the ladies alone, if you ken?"

Leonie nodded again and then smiled at them. "Tomorrow, then," she said quietly. "If I am not there, ask for Varel. He is the seneschal and he will know to expect you, yes?"

Amaryllis smiled softly. "Aye, you keep safe, young miss."

As Leonie mounted and spurred Vixen in the direction of the ridge, she felt her anger grow. Too many to help? How many was too many? Why hadn't Eddlebrek said anything? He said he cared but obviously he cared no more than Esmerelle.

She found Flann and Oris and their six children over the ridge, just as Amaryllis had said. Their hovel was even smaller and the land scorched beyond hope. Flann was trying to dig up the dead soil in the hope of finding healthier soil beneath but he admitted he hadn't found any so far. He and Oris agreed to take their family to the Vigil in the morning as well, and help with manual labor without pay, if it included room and board for the family.

Stram, Flann's brother, was another matter altogether. Belligerent and leering, he eyed Leonie with greedy eyes and she felt her anger turn into unease. She rested her hand on the pommel of her dagger as she sat talking to Flann and Oris. He leaned with lazy grace against the fence and watched her with indolent eyes.

"I think perhaps that you would be better served going into Amaranthine to find work," she told him before saying her goodbyes to the family.

"Oh? And why's that?" he asked, his eyes traveling her body slowly.

"Because," she said quietly, coming to stand before him and keeping her voice low enough not to frighten the children, "you would not be happy being made to actually work for a living."

His eyes narrowed and he pushed away from the fence, leaning closer to her. Leonie fought to maintain her stance but she had a wild moment of panic, of memories that made her heart hammer loudly against her chest, begging for escape. She blinked and said nothing, her jaws clenched against the need to cry out.

"You might want to reconsider. There's a lot of 'work' I'm good at. You might even find you like it," he whispered softly and laughed when she backed away from him.

"Come near the Vigil and I guarantee you will not live to see another day," she assured him, but her voice was shaking and she was furious with herself for betraying her fear.

He laughed. "Suit yourself," he said smugly and then Flann was there, stepping between them.

"Rest assured, my lady, he will not be there," the man said quietly and Leonie thanked him.

As she rode away, she heard Stram's laughter, caught in the currents of the wind, and she dug her heels into Vixen's flanks, her hands shaking as they held the reins. She rode hard, galloping across the fields toward the main road, nerves and heart warring with her brain. She knew she was safe, that Montran was dead, that Stram couldn't hurt her but the fear and panic were plucking at her with relentless fingers. Before she could regain complete control of her thoughts, she felt Vixen balk and she was flying out of the saddle, the earth rising up to meet her with astonishing speed.

* * *

Loghain watched Leonie ride out of the Vigil and shook his head. He had never met a more stubborn woman in his life and it was appalling to him to discover he actually admired her spirit, for all that she was aggravating. How had she managed that? Why had he allowed it? He tried to set aside his confusing thoughts and focus on Eddlebrek.

Loghain had dealt with others like Eddlebrek, who tried to legitimize their own greed in the guise of helping others. The help never extended beyond the absolute minimum. On the surface they looked benevolent, but digging deeper showed just how greedy they were. He suspected Eddlebrek was the same. Scratch the surface and it was not gold but tin that lay beneath.

Eddlebrek was not happy to see him, once Loghain told him why he was there. "I have a great number of people depending on my grain, Loghain. I can't just open the bins up to anyone and everyone."

"You remember the food riots after the Orlesian occupation, I assume?" Loghain asked with a dangerously calm tone. Eddlebrek blanched, his hands visibly shaking.

The riots, provoked by the starving masses of the Ferelden populace, had been bloody and savage. Those nobles who held back food had been ruthlessly killed, their property looted. There had been no recorded history of the event, a shameful secret that many had no knowledge of, but it was known among the nobles of Ferelden and Eddlebrek obviously remembered them.

Loghain still wore the scars of putting the riots down, had understood the need to do so, had understood even more the desperation of the people that led to their rioting. He had retreated to Gwaren afterwards, and the serenity of his perfect wife, who would not understand what had happened, but did understand his need to find solace in her tender touch. Loghain felt the gentle shift of guilt again, and regret, drifting into his thoughts. He ruthlessly pushed them aside. Showing any sign of guilt or regret would not get Eddlebrek to agree to opening his bins.

"You won't scare me into giving it aw…" he blustered but Loghain's sneer stopped him mid sentence.

"I won't need to, Eddlebrek. I will just have to let the citizenry know that you are hoarding your grain for your own ill-gotten gains and they will do the rest. I don't relish the idea but make no mistake, I will do so if necessary."

Eddlebrek's color flooded back into his face like a ruddy river. "That's blackmail!" he cried heatedly and Loghain's smile was as sharp and cold as a blizzard.

"No, it's a promise," he said, his voice silky with intent and he watched the older man's face as the resignation crept into his eyes.

"Very well," Eddlebrek acquiesced gracelessly.

"Thank you," Loghain said with irony coating the two words. Turning, he strode out of the manor house and to his waiting horse.

He wondered, as he rode off, if Leonie was already on her way back to the Vigil. _Commander_. If his Commander was riding back to the Vigil. He found safety in her title and that made his teeth ache. Safety. Old man. A safe old man and the bitterness was there again, a bile that rose up and threatened to choke him.

He railed against the bitterness, against the loneliness of his life, a rebellious spark setting fire to those feelings and when they were burned away, it left only a want. A desire to touch _her_ again. A desire to feel her supple, lithe body under his. He allowed the dream to take form.

Loghain had only wanted one other woman with such intensity and that dream had ended with a heart that was hardened against the frailty of dreams. He had married Celia because she couldn't penetrate that hardened heart, not the way that Rowan had, and even though he had loved Celia, he admitted to himself as he rode toward the Vigil, he had never allowed her in, never given himself completely to her. He wasn't sure now that he could with Leonie. He only knew that he wanted to. And that was enough to make him rein in Taranis.

Surely he was too old for such nonsense, such foolish, reckless dreams. Surely he knew better than anyone what kind of heartbreak lay down such a path. Even if she was young and silly enough to believe in happily ever afters, he was not. But even thinking that, he knew she had seen her fair share of shattered dreams and broken hearts. If she was willing to take the risk, if she had the courage to do so, could he not find it within himself to do the same? He sighed, looking desperately around for his mantle of bitterness and anger. It had served him well, it would continue to do so.

Catching movement out of the corner of his eye, as he sat wrestling with his thoughts, he turned and saw in the distance a horse rearing and pawing at the air. Fear was an icy talon wrapping around his heart as he galloped toward the horse, slowing down only as he neared the agitated horse.

She looked as though she was sleeping, her face pale and eyes closed. He knelt beside her, fingers finding a pulse that was strong and he let out a breath he hadn't known he was holding. He started to feel her limbs for broken bones.

"Is this where I ask you if you molest women in their sleep?" she asked and her voice was shaky and disturbingly husky.

Anger pushed his fear aside. "This is where I find out if you have any broken bones," he answered and the hostility in his voice surprised them both. But there was safety in anger. He ran practiced hands along her legs and willed his anger to stay put.

"Oh," she finally mumbled as her eyes drifted shut again.

"Wake up," he said sharply, holding a waterskin to her lips but she pushed it aside.

"Do not yell, Loghain," she said and struggled against his hold on her.

"I'm not yelling. I suspect you have a concussion. Or perhaps you were just tired and decided to take a nap in the middle of nowhere," he retorted but was relieved that she was waking.

She laughed weakly. "Exactly so, a nap. Perhaps I could rest a bit longer, yes?"

"No, I think not. Can you sit up?"

She groaned, a deep sound of pain, and he helped her sit up. She closed her eyes. "If you will stop the spinning, I will be fine," she muttered and then leaned against him. He held her close, sure she could hear the pounding of his heart. It was fear, adrenaline, he told himself, and not the feel of her in his arms.

"Somehow I took you for a better rider," he remarked and her eyes flew open as she pushed away from him.

"I am as fine a rider as you," she argued and he smirked. His barb had had the desired effect.

"I see. So you really did just want a nap?" he asked dryly and heard her breathless chuckle.

"I think perhaps Vixen wanted a rest. I merely consented," she replied.

"And you ruined a perfectly good dream," she added as he helped her to her feet.

"Yes, I have that effect on women," he responded and the bitterness tinged his wry tone.

"You'll have to ride with me, I think. Unless you'll let me tie you to your saddle?"

She was still pale and he saw a large knot on her temple, the size of a child's fist. Her eyes seemed unfocused and although she seemed rational enough, he was worried about her and there was no hiding that fact, even with the cloak of anger.

"Yes, lovely. As long as you allow me to sleep," she whispered, swaying on her feet. He reached out and held on to her.

"No, Commander, there will be no sleeping," he instructed brusquely. "Now, I'm going to lift you into the saddle. Slide forward and hold on to Taranis' mane. Can you do that?"

She gave him a baleful glare and muttered, "I'm not an idiot."

"We'll save that particular discussion for another time, Commander," he replied and swung her up into his arms.

"There are times when you really need a good beating," she ground out as she clutched at him.

He found himself chuckling. "No more than you, girl," he answered as he placed her forward in the saddle. She clutched at Taranis' mane, swaying and he reached out a hand to steady her.

"Loghain, if I – if I fall asleep again, let Varel know that there will be two families coming to the Vigil tomorrow. They are to be given work and housing. Handrin and Amaryllis and Flann and Oris. Please," she added and leaned forward, resting against Taranis' neck.

"Tell him yourself," he replied firmly, sliding into the saddle behind her and pulling her gently against him. He wrapped an arm around her to hold her in place and she leaned against him, her eyes once again closed.

Not, he thought with a touch of grim humor as he guided Taranis toward the keep, quite the way he had recently dreamed of holding her.


	21. Chapter 21

**A/N: **_I debated most of the night about whether to end this chapter the way I did or change it. I finally decided, after much tinkering, and a few coin flips, to just leave it as originally written._  
_Also, thank you to all who are reviewing, lurking and alerting. You make my day that much brighter._

**Dizzy**

The ride back was a blur for Leonie. The comfort of Loghain's arms around her lulled her into sleep but the moment he discovered she had dozed off, he would dig his fingers into her side and her eyes would fly open.

It was the sound of his heart, she thought sleepily, the rhythm of it pulsing through her as she turned her head and leaned into him. Strong and alive just beneath her ear. She wondered what it would feel like, with her head resting gently against the warmth of his skin, his heartbeat steady against her ear. Would it speed up if she touched him? She let one hand rest against his toned thigh. She could feel the ripple of the muscles working as he guided the horse and she knew _her _heart sped up at the touch. As she nestled against him, she found that his heart had sped up as well and that made a smile curve along her lips. Perhaps he was not just a figure carved in stone and ice after all.

Her eyes drifted shut again and she felt the warmth of his breath against her ear as he ordered, "Stay awake, Commander."

She would have to do something about that commander nonsense, she thought dizzily, as her eyes drifted shut again. Her hand slid down his thigh as she dozed off again and he jerked under her touch, which in turn made her jerk and then hiss sharply as the pain ripped through her head again.

"Sorry," she mumbled and then closed her eyes again. Maker, she was so tired.

"Damn it, Commander, stay awake," Loghain growled into her ear and she fought off a giggle at the tickling sensation of his breath against the sensitive skin.

"You need not shout, Loghain. I am right here," she whispered and tried to keep her eyes from closing.

"I am not shouting and must you move around so much?" he argued and his voice was a reverberation of sound from his chest through her back and she smiled again.

"If I do not move I will not stay awake," she disagreed and leaned back against him once more. It was all she remembered until she felt arms around her and her eyes opened to stare into Varel's eyes.

"Commander," he said matter-of-factly, as if carrying her up the winding staircase was an everyday occurrence.

"Varel. It is good to see you," she replied softly with a ghost of a smile.

"And you as well, Commander," he answered solemnly.

"Do not be angry with me, Varel. I have invited several families to come and live here. They will work for room and board," she continued and then drifted back asleep.

The next thing she was aware of was Anders lecturing her, bent over her with a face set in such serious lines she barely recognized him as he swam in and out of her vision. The room seemed to be slowly revolving and the motion made her faintly queasy.

"Three days, Lion," Anders instructed with surprising firmness.

"Absolutely not. We leave tomorrow as planned," Leonie returned with equal firmness although she felt herself nodding in agreement.

"Two days," Anders compromised, folding his arms across his chest. Did he have a twin? There seemed to be two of him giving her grim looks.

"One day," Leonie countered and smiled, unsure which one she was smiling at. She blinked several times until only one Anders remained.

The remaining Anders frowned. "One day, but you stay in bed the entire day."

"A fine compromise, my dear Anders," Leonie replied with another drowsy smile.

"I mean it, Lion. In bed the entire day. If I have to put wards around the bed, I will."

Leonie nodded and then groaned as the movement caused her headache to intensify. "Except for a bath, which you can certainly agree I need," she added.

"I'll be happy to help you with that, just to make sure you don't pass out again or anything," he commented with a suggestive waggle of his golden brows.

"I think perhaps not. Although your concern is touching."

Anders grinned with a shrug of his shoulders. "Can't blame me for trying."

His whispered spell invaded her pain, whisking it away momentarily. "I will never admit this to Loghain, and if you tell him I will deny it vehemently, but he was right. I had no business riding the lands alone. I am lucky it was my own clumsiness that caused my accident. Luckier still that he found me."

"I'll be sure to pass that along to Loghain," the selfsame man said, entering the room with a smug expression.

"Have I mentioned eavesdropping is a most despicable habit?"

"Hardly eavesdropping. You do realize you're shouting, don't you?" Loghain remarked and his smirk stretched into a very small smile.

"I am?" Leonie blinked again, several times. And then sighed. The room continued to revolve.

"Not uncommon with a concussion. You probably have a ringing in your ears," Anders explained and Leonie closed her eyes against her sudden blush.

"A symptom you might have mentioned, along with telling me to lower my voice," she hissed at the healer.

Without a sign of remorse, Anders nodded and then stood up again. "No sleeping for the next few hours, Lion. If you feel yourself nodding off, shake yourself. Or better yet, I'll stay and read to you."

"That is not at all necessary. While I promise to stay in bed, I do not promise to just lie here doing nothing. If you would send Varel up here, I would be most grateful."

"No." Loghain's voice, implacable and unyielding.

Leonie turned and looked at the man, who was standing with his arms crossed, his scowl once again in place. There was only one of him. That was all that was necessary, his powerful presence filled the room.

"No? Need I remind you who the commander is?" she asked, faintly indignant.

"Need I remind you that a concussion can cause confusion and it is therefore customary for the second in command to take charge when a commander suffers from one?" he asked, his ire painting his words with sarcasm.

"Need I remind you that –"

"Now children, no fighting," Anders said with a grin and then he waved as he beat a hasty retreat.

"There are times when I cannot fathom why I conscripted him," she said plaintively.

Loghain's chuckle was deep and rich. "Your order has a habit of conscripting odd people."

She cast him a glare that hurt her head far more than it hurt his feelings. "Such scurrilous remarks against an order you now belong to is beneath you, Loghain Mac Tir," she chided.

"Now, care to tell me what happened?" he asked, ignoring her remark. He dragged a chair over and sat beside the bed, waiting.

"I have already said that it was my own clumsiness that caused me to be thrown."

"Yes, but what caused the clumsiness?"

Leonie sighed, closing her eyes as she explained her reaction to Stram's words and behavior, her unreasoning panic and flight, her inattentiveness to the reins and her sailing through the air. "I think I must have pulled back too hard on the reins. There was no reason for her to balk as she did," she finished and when she finally opened her eyes and looked at him, he was glaring at her and she felt her own anger notching up.

"You do not need to try and flay me with a look, Loghain. I had no idea that seeing that man would cause such a reaction."

"You bloody fool," he growled, his fists clenched. "You could have been killed. You are supposed to be the commander, act like it."

Leonie felt his words pierce her and tears rose, unbidden and unwanted. She turned away from him as they began a slow descent down her cheeks. "That is a cheap shot, even for you," she said thickly. "And I would appreciate it if you left now."

She listened as Loghain pushed out of the chair and she closed her eyes, letting the tears fall at will. She sniffed at her tears, dashing them away disdainfully. "You arrogant ass," she hissed and then opened her eyes as she felt a weight on the bed.

"It's because he cares, Lion. Surely you know that," Anders chided, gently wiping at her tears.

"And is that how Fereldans show their affection? Snarling and snapping like mad dogs?" she bit out and the tears began to flow again. Anders pulled her carefully into his arms.

"Some do. I prefer nibbling necks, but some snarl and snap."

She wasn't sure what to think of that revelation and was content just to be held and comforted. "You're a good friend, Anders," she mumbled against his chest.

"Well, don't spread that around. I like being thought of as more than a friend with the fairer sex," he replied with another grin. "And you need to stop crying before you ruin my robe," he added.

She sniffled and leaned back, swiping at her tears. "Absolutely. We cannot have your robe ruined by a mere friend's tears," she agreed and her mood lifted.

Nathaniel brought a tea tray in an hour later and Leonie, sitting up in bed dry eyed and awake, thanked him. "You are not going to rip into me about my idiocy too, are you?" she asked wryly as she sipped the hot tea.

"No, I think you learned your lesson," Nathaniel replied quietly. "Loghain's gone to look at Vixen though. He found it odd that you were lying face up."

Leonie frowned, closing her eyes to concentrate on the last thing she remembered before losing consciousness. It was impacting the ground with her arms covering her face, an instinctive habit formed from practicing it years earlier. She had landed face down. Of that she was positive.

"I did not land face up, Nathaniel. I am sure of that, even if I am sure of nothing else," she whispered, her mouth going dry.

"Maybe you rolled over and don't remember?" he asked and they looked at each other uneasily.

"I suppose that is possible," she said with no conviction in her voice.

She drank her tea quietly, deep in thought. She had told Loghain she had pulled on the reins too hard. Had she? She closed her eyes again, visualizing her ride. She couldn't be sure, but she didn't remember pulling back on the reins. She just remembered Vixen's balking and herself flying forward. But there was something there, in her mind's eye. A hulking figure? A rock? Something shadowy and shimmering just beyond her sight.

"Get Loghain, Nathaniel," Leonie whispered urgently and flung the bedclothes back as soon as he left. She stumbled, feeling ill for a minute, rocking unsteadily on her feet. She struggled into her clothes and then sat down abruptly on her bed as a wave of nausea assaulted her, closing her eyes and leaning against the headboard, dizzy and feeling disoriented.

"What are you doing?" Loghain growled, entering the room.

Her eyes flew open. And that was a mistake as he began to swim in and out of focus. "I landed face first, Loghain. I had my hands up to protect myself. How did I come to be lying face up with a knot the size of a goose's egg on my forehead?" she asked quietly.

Anders pushed past Loghain and came to sit beside Leonie. "You promised to stay in bed," Anders accused and she nodded slowly.

"I will come back to bed, Anders, but I want to see Vixen first."

Loghain looked ready to argue and she didn't blame him but she held up her hand. "I do not have the energy to fight with you _and_ figure out what happened, Loghain," she began and then sighed, closing her eyes.

"I – I remember a rock. I remember looking up and seeing a rock in someone's hand."

The room fell eerily silent at her words. Finally Loghain spoke. "Are you certain?" he asked quietly.

Leonie rubbed the back of her neck, her muscles aching now that she was moving. "I am certain that I landed face first, my arms were covering my head and face to protect myself. Riordan – Riordan taught me that when I insisted on trying to learn to jump. He taught me to loosen my body and cover my head when my horse balked. I was ten then. He – he made me practice over and over until it became second nature," she explained in a voice trembling with emotion.

Nathaniel came in too and stood beside Loghain. "So someone tried to kill you?" he asked, his face paling.

"I do not suspect that is the case. Had someone wanted me dead, he would have done more than frighten my horse and hit me with a rock, yes?"

Loghain nodded thoughtfully. "Someone is trying to scare you," he said with quiet assurance.

"Well whoever it is does not know me if they think such a thing will make me run screaming from Ferelden," she answered angrily.

She rose unsteadily and Anders slipped an arm around her waist, holding her steady. "I really don't recommend this, Lion. You need to just stay still and let yourself recover," he said quietly, his voice low and anxious.

"I do not wish to be obstinate, Anders, truly, but I cannot rest until I see to Vixen," she explained in an equally low voice.

"I have just come from Vixen. She is fine, Commander. However, I think if Nathaniel is up to it, we should ride back out and examine the site," Loghain broke in and his voice was surprisingly gentle as well. Or maybe, she thought sourly, my hearing is still defective. "Will Vixen allow other riders?"

Leonie sighed. She knew they were right. She would not do herself, or them, any favors if she worsened her condition. But she hated admitting it, hated admitting to weakness of any kind in front of Loghain. And that she had to stuck in her craw.

"Yes, perhaps you are correct," she finally said and sank back onto the bed. "She has a soft mouth, Nathaniel," she added.

Anders sighed in relief and he and Nathaniel made their way out of her room. She could hear them talking as they walked down the hallway.

"You will let me know what you find?" she asked as she swung her legs back onto the bed and eased her head down on her pillow.

"Of course, Commander."

"I hate this," she mumbled, closing her eyes only to have a hand shake her shoulder gently.

"No sleeping," Loghain remonstrated sternly.

"I hate you as well," she sighed, struggling to keep her eyes open.

"Yes, I gathered that," he remarked dryly and she couldn't help the smile that flitted across her face.

She looked up at him and saw that he was frowning thoughtfully. "What is it, Loghain?"

He was looking intently at her and, after a moment's hesitation, he reached down and tapped her cheek. "Stay awake," he said only and then turned and left the room.

"Impossible man," she muttered, rubbing her forehead.

They returned three hours later and Leonie, feeling marginally better, was propped up in bed listening to Ander's wild stories of life in the tower. It was amazing to her that he had ever wanted to escape, based on his exploits there.

"I am surprised there was even room under his desk to do such a thing. And how you managed to stay quiet is another matter altogether," she said with a chuckle.

"Well, it wasn't my best performance, that's for sure," Anders agreed and she slapped at his arm.

"You are having a tease at me, are you not?" she asked wryly and he laughed.

"Having a tease? That sounds naughty and delightful. But yes, I'm teasing you. The Knight Commander wasn't actually in the room so noise wasn't really an issue," he agreed and slid off the bed as they heard Loghain and Nathaniel in the hallway.

"Best not get the big guy jealous," he added with another grin.

"I do not think he cares enough to be jealous," she returned but nothing more was said as the men entered her room.

"Well, you look better," Nathaniel said with relief.

"I am better, thank you for your concern, Nathaniel."

She waited impatiently for Loghain to talk but he seemed intent on holding back the information. Finally she said in a dry voice, "I believe I am even hearing better so perhaps you would kindly tell me what you discovered?"

"Someone was there. It looks like they followed you for some time. I'm surprised you didn't notice them."

Leonie frowned. She couldn't very well tell him she had been day dreaming the entire ride. "I am just as surprised as you are," she finally said when it was apparent that he wasn't going to continue until she said something.

"A large man. Or at least a man with large boots. We found the rock as well."

Shivering, Leonie pulled a blanket around her. Her hands were shaking. "Why did he not just kill me? How could he think this attack would make me leave? Is that even his intent?"

Dizzy and tired, she closed her eyes and waited for any other information, feeling angry and frightened and foolish. And ill. Her stomach was roiling and her eyes flew open.

"Out," she mumbled as she stumbled out of bed. "Now," she urged as she lurched for her wash basin.

"Lion?" Anders asked in concern and she waved him away. She did not want to be sick in front of all of them. She had been humiliated enough for one day. For one lifetime.

She held her hand over her mouth, willing her stomach to settle until she heard the door close and then she let her stomach empty itself. Weakly, she leaned against the washstand. Why did everything have to be so blasted complicated? She had one thing she wanted to accomplish. Find and kill the Architect. Why was everything, including her own heart, interfering with that? Where was her discipline and common sense?

Anders was there a few minutes later with a cup of mint tea and instructions for her to take a bath and go to bed.

"They're fetching water now and because I like you so well, I'm going to heat it for you."

"I feel honored," she replied with a sigh. The tea was settling her stomach and calming her nerves.

"It is a funny thing, is it not, to know someone is hunting you."

"Funny is not the word I would choose. At least I never considered templars funny. Maybe that was my mistake?"

"Odd. It is an odd thing," Leonie corrected, moving over to her armoire and removing her nightdress and wrapper.

"No, Commander. It isn't odd or funny. It's frightening and you should be scared. You, of all people, should know that," Loghain said grimly as he entered her room.

"Does no one knock in this place?" she complained, exasperated. She tossed her nightdress and wrapper on her bed. "Is there a sign I am unaware of that bids all who approach to enter at will?" she continued, sinking down on the edge of her bed.

"And unless you wish to see me undress and bathe, I suggest you turn around and leave," she finished, shooting Loghain an angry scowl.

His eyes widened and those twin spots of color appeared, riding along his cheekbones. "I'll be back," he said over his shoulder.

"Of that I have no doubt," Leonie replied wryly.

The bath helped restore her calm, if not her equilibrium. She slipped into her nightdress and brushed her hair, avoiding the tender knot on her temple. It had been a very confusing day and she still had not told Loghain about her visits and he had not told her what had occurred with Eddlebrek. Sighing, she tied her wrapper around her and opened her bedroom door, intent on finding him. But the dizziness assailed her and she gripped the door tightly until it had passed.

"Where do you think you're going?" Loghain asked. He was standing outside her door, leaning against the wall with that easy grace he had.

"To find you," she explained and tried to loosen her grip on the door. "And as soon as things stop spinning like a top, I shall do so," she added.

"Stubborn chit," he complained, coming to help her.

"Arrogant man," she replied, leaning into him.

And with a suddenness that left her breathless, he pulled her close, his lips supple and graceful as they danced against hers, warm and intense. His hands spanned her waist, edging her closer and she could feel the taut muscles of his chest through the thin material of her wrapper, could feel the length and hardness of his thighs brush against hers and she let out a ragged moan. Her fingers snaked into his hair and he pulled her still closer and the heat of his lips caressing hers, the feel of his hands on her waist elicited another moan from Leonie and the kiss deepened, changed as tongues clashed and his hands began to move from her waist, one hand moving up her back to the nape of her neck and the other urgently pressing her closer as it found purchase on the small of her back. He groaned, low in his throat and Leonie felt it deep inside where her blood was pooling and spinning outward in hot currents.

And, as suddenly as it started it was over, and he was moving away.

"Now get some sleep," he said as he walked out of her room and shut the door.

As if I can now, Leonie thought, touching her bruised lips. It would be difficult for her to ever see him as a cold man again, the warmth of his kiss still tingling along her nerve endings.

She sank onto her bed, realizing that her earlier dizziness was finally gone but a whole new kind of dizziness had taken its place.

She wasn't sure what to make of that.


	22. Chapter 22

**Reflections**

As Loghain made his way down the hall to his own room, he ran through a list of curses he knew, hurling them all mentally as his own stupidity. Kissing her? What was he thinking? Of course, he hadn't been thinking. At least not with his brain. It was only his own innate cold restraint that kept him from slamming the door of his room shut behind him. Cold restraint? Where had that been moments ago?

Not a man who believed in fate or destiny or even the absentee landlord of a supreme entity known as the Maker, he now found himself blaming all of them for putting Leonie Caron here in this time and place. She was not what he wanted, or needed. He did not want to make the kinds of choices and decisions he found himself forced to make.

It was at times like this that he wondered why the Maker was such a trickster. He should be dead. This would not be a problem if he was. He had hoped to die three times over; at the Landsmeet, at his Joining and most assuredly at the Siege of Denerim, making the killing blow against the Archdemon. A man with any dignity would have died by now. Yet here he was, stubborn and recalcitrant, standing in a mess of his own creation.

Pacing the room, he made a list of the reasons why he should never, _would _never, kiss the woman again.

She was much too young for him. There were times when she looked as small and frightened as a child, reminding him of Anora when the raging storms roared in from the sea, rattling windows and rooftops and the land itself, and she would hide in his study, wide eyed and trembling. And if he could keep that in mind, that she reminded him of Anora, there was hope that he could distance himself. But he knew, even as the thoughts came to him, that there was no fatherly feeling present during those times when she seemed so vulnerable. There was only a sense of manly pride that he could erase that fear from her in a most unfatherly way. He gritted his teeth and continued pacing.

At times there was such wisdom and pain in her expression that he literally ached for her. To be so young and suffer such losses. Losses, he reminded himself bitterly, that he had caused. Another reason she was _not _going to be kissed again, at least not by him. Inevitably he would hurt her. It's what he did with women in his life. He snorted derisively. All four of them, he thought cynically. And one was his daughter, she hardly counted.

Stubborn, obstinate woman. She was so obdurate at times it made his teeth ache and his jaws twitch from being clenched so tightly. His pacing slowed to a stop. She was a reflection of himself at those times, he realized with surprising candor. Was that why he was attracted to her? Was his vanity and pride so great that he needed a reflection of himself in order to be attracted to a woman? He refused to believe that of himself but neither could he completely deny it.

Commanders and subordinates did not make for compelling lovers. Lovers? Where had that word come from? He rubbed at the back of his neck, resuming his pacing.

Subordinates. Cauthrien. Why had he never thought of Cauthrien in any other capacity? She had been his most trusted subordinate, the woman who commanded Maric's Shield with great skill and honor. When he had taken her in she had seemed like another daughter and that feeling had never changed, even though he had known she would prefer more from him. And now, he was Leonie's subordinate. He was her Cauthrien. Was this how Cauthrien had felt? His pacing stumbled to a halt. Another stab of guilt, one more wound, as he thought of Cauthrien, who had given everything to him and he had taken it all selfishly, without thought, without allowing himself to acknowledge how difficult it must have been for her. Damn Leonie Caron for opening his wounds up.

Orlesian, he reminded himself grimly and resumed his pacing. Orlesian and capable of deceit and treachery, just as every Orlesian was. They were born with those abilities in their blood, he thought sourly. She would twist and turn him, leave him painfully raw and exposed if he allowed it. And he would be damned if he would allow it. Was she reeling him in just to watch him writhe like a fish left to die, floundering out of his element, hooked and beaten? He could not honestly see that, wouldn't believe that of her for all that it would make things easier for him. She was Orlesian, but she was surprisingly not the enemy he had always associated with the word.

There were times when she reminded him of Rowan, indomitable and strong, charging into battle with graceful purpose and yet, when he held Leonie in his arms, when he had kissed her, he had not been reminded of Rowan. Or Celia. And he could not blame his desire for her on either woman. Blame his desire? He snorted scornfully. His desire, his lecherous desire for a woman young enough to be his daughter. He could only blame that on his own pathetic celibacy. A self imposed choice that had served him well in the past, allowing him to put all his energies into protecting Ferelden. And now threatened by that woman down the hall. He uttered a string of curses.

He found, as he finally stopped pacing, that he had a headache. A sharp stabbing pain behind his eyes. As he prepared for bed, he tried to let all the reflection, all the damned introspection, slide into the darkness, away from his conscious thought.

It was a long, mostly sleepless night and when Loghain woke in the morning, he had no headache and no answers. He made his way into the dining hall, half expecting the stubborn chit to be sitting at the table. He wasn't sure if he was disappointed or relieved to see only Nathaniel and Anders, quietly eating.

"How is the Commander?" he asked, reaching for a slab of bread.

"Better. She wants to get up but I threatened her with your retribution if she did. That settled her," Anders said with a smirk.

Loghain fought the urge to wince at that remark, instead he said, "Whatever it takes, whatever is necessary." And now he was quoting _her,_ quoting the Grey Warden mantra and he found his headache returning.

"Nathaniel, I want you to pay a visit to Bann Esmerelle today. Let her know about the attack on the Commander. See what her reaction is.

"Anders, go into Amaranthine with him, but go to the Crown and Lion, see if there's anything being said about it or her," he ordered as he pushed away from the table, no longer hungry.

Anders let out a long whistling sigh of relief. "I was afraid you'd make me go see Lady Liza," he explained.

"I think her group is more intent on killing her than scaring her." Which, Loghain thought grimly, was not a particularly happy thought.

"Find a place to meet at a specific time and head back to the keep. I don't want anyone traveling alone for now. And I want you both back here by mid afternoon."

It felt good, he reflected as he went to his office, to give orders again. To be doing anything other than puzzling over his emotions and thoughts. Nothing good came from that, only headaches and a much closer look at himself than he cared for.

Loghain found it difficult to concentrate as he sat at his desk going over budget forms and training reports. He blamed the commander for that. He found his anger ratcheting up and he finally pushed the paperwork aside and stood up.

His footsteps were beating a loud staccato on the stairs as he made his way up them, in perfect disharmony with the headache that was beating loudly against his temples. Her door was open and he stepped into the room, prepared to see her surrounded by paperwork and issuing orders to Varel. She was not.

Her glossy black hair curled around her pale face like a dark halo. Her eyes were closed and her expression relaxed. He noticed how the lace of her nightdress caressed along her jaw line and he was angry again. Damn her. Why couldn't she wear the thick woolen nightdresses of a practical Fereldan?

"Are you here to gloat, glower or grouse?" she asked without opening her eyes. Of course she would know it was him. She could feel his taint, feel his presence, even if she didn't want to and he could feel hers, faintly, a tickling wave along his veins but surprisingly mild in comparison to the taint he had sensed in Anders or Nathaniel.

"I have come to discuss our travel tomorrow," he bit out as she finally opened her eyes. He saw in them a reflection of his own confusion and it did nothing to help alleviate his rising tide of anger.

"As you wish," she said, struggling to sit up and he resisted the urge to help her by curling his hands into tight fists at his sides.

"It will take two days of brisk walking to get there. Perhaps it would be best for all if you stayed behind."

Her eyes narrowed as she glared at him. "Absolutely not. I will be well by tomorrow, according to Anders and I will not be left behind. If this chasm is indeed a Deep Roads cave in you will need my expertise. Unless you have spent large amounts of time in the Deep Roads?" she asked in a quietly lethal voice. Good, anger was a much better deterrent than the spill of dark hair and the grace of a perfectly shaped jaw line.

"I have been in the Deep Roads before, Commander. I'm well aware of the dangers."

Now she leaned forward and jerked at the long sleeve of her nightdress, yanking it up to show a particularly vicious looking scar. "Deepstalker acid spit," she said before pulling the sleeve down. "Only some of them have that ability, something you may not have encountered on your expedition into the Deep Roads."

Loghain bit back a nasty reply. It had been thirty years since he'd actually spent any length of time in the Deep Roads and that thought exposed a wound every bit as vicious at the scar on her arm, his thoughts turning to Maric, Katriel and Rowan and the betrayals that had ensued. Not, he reflected bitterly, their finest moments.

"If you are afraid that I will not be able to carry my weight, let me assure you otherwise, Loghain. I have suffered worse damage and managed quite well," she added and there was more than a bit of ice in her voice.

"That was not my intent," he began and the ice was reflected back at her. "I suppose I shouldn't be surprised that you would argue the point."

"I suppose not. Was there anything else?" she asked and her chin was high.

"Yes, I'm assigning a full time detail to guard you."

He braced, ready for an explosion of anger to rain over him, already lining up his arguments but she said nothing, only nodded. Her surprise at acquiescing was no doubt mirrored in his own expression. Neither had expected her to just agree and it unsettled him.

"Do not look so shocked, Loghain. I am not quite as foolish as you like to believe. After Montran, I would hope I have learned something," she finally said when the silence grew strained.

Well so much for anger, he thought, completely disarmed by the unexpected humor in her voice. Damn her! And damn him for seeking her out on such a flimsy pretext. No doubt, he thought sourly, she saw right through it.

"Yes, well, that remains to be seen, doesn't it?" he retorted and turned to leave. There was nothing but trouble lying in wait if he stayed any longer. Because for some inexplicable reason, he wanted to gather her up in his arms and find her lips again and that just wasn't going to happen.

Varel, finding him an hour later, was wearing a bemused smile on his face. "The Commander asked to see you. Something about the families that she sent here? She isn't going to try and house the entire arling, is she?"

Loghain scowled. "It would not surprise me," he said and there was no mistaking the resignation in his voice.

Her door now closed, he hesitated, his knuckles inches from the thick panel of wood, schooling his expression, tucking in his wayward thoughts, before rapping sharply.

She was leaning against a pile of pillows, several sheets of vellum spread across the blankets. Obviously she was not resting.

"Loghain, I want you to make sure that the two families coming here today have decent accommodations, private ones if possible. And please ask the cook to make something special for the children, yes? I think perhaps they have not had much joy in their lives," she instructed and he saw how soft her expression became when she spoke of the children.

"Would you have me read them bedtime stories as well?" he asked sarcastically. He was not, by the Maker, some errand boy! And she was entirely too fetching when her eyes took on that dreamy quality.

Her eyes sparked angrily. "I asked you to do this because Varel is not a parent but you are. I assumed, however incorrectly, that you would understand how difficult a transition this would be for the children," she flashed, slapping the bedclothes furiously.

"Your attempt to anger me has succeeded. Now is the time for you to depart," she added, her voice terse and cool.

That was better, Loghain reflected as he made his way to the great hall. Better an angry Orlesian hellcat than that soft, sweet woman she had momentarily become. Hellcats he could handle. And yet, there he was, instructing the cook to make sweetmeats for the children. He found his jaw was clenched again. And he had no one to blame but himself.

Nathaniel and Anders returned two hours later. Loghain met them in the great hall. "What did you discover?"

"Nothing. Well, I don't think Esmerelle had anything to do with the attack. She seemed genuinely surprised, and even a bit disappointed that she was only hurt, if I read the expression correctly. I let her know I was disappointed too," Nathaniel explained.

"Anything at the tavern, Anders?"

"No, only a lot of gossip about her being a spy from Orlais, you know the usual nonsense, and an equal number of people who think she's a savior of some kind. I tend to believe the latter, of course," he added with a grin. "Her ploy to win the hearts and minds of Amaranthine seems to be working, actually," he added with a note of surprised admiration in his voice.

"No doubt," Loghain said dryly.

A short time later, he and Nathaniel went out to hunt. Loghain enjoyed the feel of his bow in his hands again and he and Nathaniel spent several hours in the woods, bringing down a fat, seven pointed, buck and a fair amount of small game. It became a contest between them, who could shoot the most accurately, who could bring down the most game. Nathaniel was a better shot, not surprising considering how long it had been for Loghain, and he could feel it in the pull of tight muscles that had all but forgotten how to shoot.

It was as they were sitting sharing a waterskin that Loghain caught a glimmer out of the corner of his eye. It was the reflection of sunlight on steel, he realized, across a broken field, in the direction of the keep. He glanced at Nathaniel, who was looking in the same direction, already on his feet.

They left their game and made their way through the thick woods, watching for another reflection but all they found was a trampled area at the edge of the woods. Nathaniel knelt in the dirt and when he turned his eyes back to Loghain, he didn't hide his concern.

"It will be harder to track him," he said quietly and Loghain nodded.

"Same person?"

"Looks that way," Nathaniel agreed, standing up and brushing his hands off. "At least the same boots."

They stood, staring at the Vigil. "Is that the Commander's room?" Loghain asked, pointing to an open window on the second floor.

Nathaniel nodded. Of course there were other windows that could be watched from this location, but they both understood whose window was being observed. "Let's see if we can find out where this mysterious man went," he said quietly.

They lost the tracks in the deeper woods. The tracks led into a creek and did not appear to come out. "Probably walking the creek. Whoever he is, he seems to know what he's doing," Nathaniel pointed out, his voice full of the tension Loghain was feeling.

Loghain sent several men with Nathaniel to collect the game and then went in search of Varel. "I want her window nailed shut," he began without preamble and Varel, eyebrows raised, nodded.

"You know that she's going to want to nail your hide to the wall for this, right?" the older man asked and Loghain's smile was thin and grim.

"I expect nothing less," he agreed before going up to tell her what he planned.

She was sleeping when he entered her room. Curled up on her side, hands under her cheek, she was breathing deeply and evenly. He started to back out of the room but she stirred then and let out a startled cry when she saw him.

After he explained what they had discovered, she sat bolt upright and swung her legs out of bed. He was about to extend a hand to help her but pulled it back as she made her way to the window, swinging it shut. He tried his best to ignore the soft curves of her breasts through the thin gown, diligently keeping his eyes elsewhere.

"I suppose you have decided to nail boards across it? Or move me to another room?" she asked quietly and there was an edge of fear in it that made him want to comfort her. Which was not going to happen, he reminded himself grimly.

"Just nail the window shut. He'll have to break it to enter. That should give enough warning to the guards."

She turned away and walked over to him. "And that will be enough, yes?" she asked and he found it odd that she expected reassurances from him but he found himself giving them readily enough.

"We'll do all we can, Leonie, but you'll have to help," he answered and then mentally winced as he realized what he'd said.

"I will, Loghain. No matter how angry it makes me," she responded and smiled suddenly. "This is a frightening thing, is it not? Agreeing on anything?" she added and he found himself mirroring the smile with one of his own.

"Yes, well, don't expect that to happen often," he agreed and turned to leave but was arrested by the sight of them reflected in her mirror.

He looked old and tired and frayed around the edges and she looked remarkably young and fresh but he was smiling and he couldn't remember the last time he had actually smiled. He hadn't realized how tall she was. Somehow she had seemed smaller, more fragile than that. But standing so close, their reflection seemed to fit, somehow.

And that, he reflected grimly, was not a good thing.


	23. Chapter 23

**Night Music**

"Anders, where did you manage to hide Ser Pounce? I had no idea you had him with you," Leonie asked in surprise. They had walked all day, save for a rest at midday, and she had not seen or heard the cat. It was as if he had conjured Ser Pounce out of the night air.

Anders, kitten curled along the back of his neck like a fur collar, smiled smugly. "Can't tell you. A trade secret," he answered, a teasing smirk turning the corners of his mouth up.

She laughed lightly. They were all gathered around the fire. Loghain was quietly whittling and she found her gaze lingering on his hands as he worked, mesmerized by the long fingers stroking the wood, the flash of the knife's edge caught in the firelight, the shifting expressions on his face as the wood slowly took shape.

Brisk winds swirled through the camp, dancing with the leaping flames of the fire. Clouds scudded across the ebony expanse of the night as stars played peek-a-boo with them, and the tents, catching the wind, billowed like a ship's sails. They were camped in a large field, a day into the two day journey to Knotwood Hills.

"Say, Ser Brood-a-Lot, why are you so quiet?" Anders asked, poking at the man, and Leonie turned her gaze to Nathaniel, who looked lost in thought, a slight arch of his brows indicating his thoughts were not entirely happy.

"Nathaniel, are you not well this evening?" she asked in concern.

"Ah, he's just missing his knight tonight," Anders remarked and in the silence that followed, Leonie heard the contented purring of Ser Pounce and the crackling of logs as the fire devoured them with rapacious intent, the sounds soaring into the night sky.

"Is that true, Nathaniel? This friendship you mentioned with Ser Tamra in your youth. It was more than that?"

"I wanted it to be but Father had other intentions. He always hoped that Elissa Cousland and I would form an attachment, but we were never more than friends." He fell into a moody silence and Leonie waited for him to continue.

"I can't help…" he finally began before he trailed off unhappily and Leonie reached over, patting his arm in encouragement.

"I can't help but wonder had I just married Elissa, gone along with Father's plans, if any of the other things that followed would have happened," he ended and looked away from them, even avoiding Loghain's eyes, just staring into the darkness as if somehow he could find the answers there.

Loghain set his whittling aside and leaned toward the fire, his eyes unreadable in the flickering light.

"Yes, Nathaniel, they would have. Your father's aspirations went much higher than the Couslands. Even I didn't realize how high they went until it was too late. Your being here, married to Elissa Cousland or otherwise, would have made no difference," Loghain answered and Leonie heard the edge of bitterness, laced with regret, in his voice.

She fought the urge to go to him and wrap her arms around him. He would not thank her for it and she had no more idea of where she stood with him now than she had last week or last night. It was as if the kiss two nights earlier had never happened. He came in the following morning all brisk business and sardonic reflections on the previous day's events and it made Leonie want to slap his smirk right off his face. She had wound up gripping her bedcovers so tightly her fingers had gone numb.

Turning to Nathaniel, she watched as he looked unhappily into the fire, his legs drawn up and his arms wrapped around them. "I was sent to the Free Marches when Father found out about my interest in Ser Tamra. No Howe was going to marry beneath him," Nathaniel said, his voice mocking and angry. She was glad to see the anger, hoping it would help him move beyond his father's betrayal.

Stretching out her hand again, she squeezed his arm. "But now you are free from such tyranny, yes?"

"I suppose, but now I have nothing at all to offer her, which is an irony even my Father would find amusing."

"You say you have nothing to offer her but I say you are mistaken, Nathaniel. You have the one thing a woman wants. Your heart," Leonie argued, meeting his eyes. "This is a thing of great value to a woman." And as she watched his expression, she saw a flicker in his grey eyes, a small flame of hope. He turned his gaze in Loghain's direction as if seeking approval or confirmation. Leonie bit back a sudden urge to laugh. Of all the people to seek confirmation from, she thought as she nearly choked on the laughter that was too stubborn to stay silent. She hoped the cough covered it but Loghain was eyeing her with a frown.

"Don't look to me, Nathaniel. I've very little experience in what a woman truly wants," Loghain said dryly but he looked thoughtful as he began to whittle again. "And apparently the Commander thinks so as well," he added and Leonie bit her cheek, eyes skittering away from him.

No one spoke for a few moments and the only noise at all were all the night sounds around them, flowing above their campsite. Leonie found it difficult to sit still, a restless energy in her. He was correct, he had no idea what a woman truly wanted and he didn't seem inclined to try and find out. Leonie wasn't sure if she wanted to laugh or cry about it .

She moved away from the fire, stepping out into the darkness, her eyes watering from the wind, frustrated. She did not understand him. She, who was so adept at reading people, had absolutely no idea what to make of a man who could kiss her with such divine fire and passion one minute and freeze her out the next.

She heard the sorrowful notes of a barred owl in the near distance. _Who mourns for you? Who mourns for you all? _And that was followed almost immediately by the lighter, cheerier call of the whippoorwill, _Sweet, sweet night milord, sweet night_, and it occurred to her that Loghain was very much like the barred owl's song and she the whippoorwill's. Two entirely different species. A sigh sailed into the wind, lost in the other sounds of the night.

She felt Loghain's presence as he came to stand beside her. "Listen," she whispered. "Do you hear the night music?" She did not look at him, head tilted, listening to the tree frogs searching for mates, the crickets crying out for attention. A beautiful litany of life all around them and yet he remained grim.

He glanced down at her, frowning slightly. "You need to come back to the fire. You're freezing," he responded. "And being out here alone is like having a target painted on your back again."

She laughed, an unhappy sound picked up by the wind as well, and carried away to mingle with the other sounds of the night. "I would wish that you cared on some personal level, Loghain."

"Don't be a fool," he said in cold, clipped tones. "You're my commander. I'm obligated to care."

Eyes closed against the sharp stab of disappointment and hurt, Leonie said nothing. Crickets began to chirp angrily at each other and she knew just how they felt. Leaves rustled in the breeze and the barred owl sang his plaintive song again. The whippoorwill did not respond. Neither did she.

"You want something from me that I'm not sure I have," he said with sudden intensity, his voice a whispered accusation. "I can't understand why you even want it," he added and rather than bitter or angry, he just sounded bewildered, confused by her as much as she was confused by him.

"Can you not?" she asked, genuinely curious. "Does it confound you that a woman would be attracted to you?"

"Yes, it does, and you in particular. Don't you think I've seen the way you look at Duncan's portrait? Or the way you say his name? I don't see how I can possibly take his place, nor why you would want me to," he said and there was that bitterness again, that hopeless, acidic grit in his voice.

"You cannot take his place," she began and he growled, an angry, hurt sound, and she could feel him bristling, preparing to walk away. She turned to face him, reaching out to caress his cheek.

"I do not ask you to take his place, Loghain. I ask that you make a new place. To accept that there is something, some connection, between us that should be explored. Maybe it will lead nowhere, maybe it will lead to a happiness that you deserve, for all that you do not believe you do."

She dropped her hand and moved away, further into the darkness before turning back to him. "You see the heart as this small thing residing in your chest and therefore only capable of devotion to one person. But the heart is so much more. It is the soul, the very essence, of a person as well, capable of infinite love, infinite possibilities. That is not some moonstruck woman's observation, it is a truth I hold dear and know from experience," she added softly, her thoughts turning to Riordan and Duncan for a brief moment, remembering the joy and not the sorrow.

She missed them, missed the easy grace of their relationship, the knowledge that they both understood her and accepted her. This man standing before her looked at her as if she was a creature from an unknown world. Maybe he was right. Maybe they were just too different. But she had to believe, had to accept that her heart knew her, knew what she wanted, what she needed. Inexplicably, it had decided she needed Loghain. And she would not, could not, dissuade it.

The silence between them was filled with the sounds of the crackling and snapping of the fire, and the rustling of wind as it caressed dying leaves, the rush of startled night birds taking flight, canvas tent flaps whipped by the wind. And floating above it all, the mournful call of the barred owl. A symphony of night music and yet he could not hear it, could not appreciate how beautiful it was, how beautiful life was. He was so tortured by his own self loathing he couldn't rise above it. And she had no idea how to help him overcome it.

"I'm so much older than you. Why would you want there to be anything between us?" he asked, as ruthless with himself as always, Leonie thought sadly.

"Oh Loghain, you will always find many reasons why this is wrong and yet you refuse to understand why it is right," she chided softly.

He snorted derisively and Leonie's soft exhale became a part of the air, a part of the night music that murmured in the woods and fields beyond them. "How can you expect me to believe you have forgiven me for Duncan?" he asked, his voice so laced with resentment and remorse that she felt a deep ache for him.

"It is not I who needs to forgive you, Loghain Mac Tir. You must forgive yourself," she responded finally. She found it to be true, she did not need to forgive him, she had accepted what had happened and it no longer burned in her, that anger and grief. It was a soft, subtle wisp, not a raging beast.

She felt him moving and he spun her around, his face a mask of pain and regret. "You make it sound so easy. Forgive. Forget. Those aren't words I believe in any longer, if I ever did," he growled.

"Then learn to trust in yourself. Learn to trust in who you are as a person, not as a general or as a hero or as a teryn, but just as a man. Perhaps that will lead to acceptance. And with acceptance comes forgiveness, Loghain. But you will never forget, you cannot, nor can I. Yet in forgiving, the memories are no longer so painful," she whispered and her heart went out to this proud man who could not forgive himself. Until he did, he would forgive no one. Nor would he be able to accept that others could forgive him.

His lips crashed into hers, firm and warm and demanding and then they were gone again and so was he, long strides carrying him back to the waiting campfire. She touched her lips, shaking her head. He was the most confounding, complex, aggravating man. But he could certainly kiss, Leonie reflected, her lips curving into a smile. After a few moments she made her way back as well, sitting down next to Anders. Ser Pounce jumped from his perch into her lap and she scratched his neck.

Loghain, sitting across the fire, eyed the cat warily and the cat, as if knowing it, moved toward him, jumping lithely from Leonie's lap and sauntering over to Loghain. She heard Anders snicker and she barely restrained her own giggle at Loghain's look of panic.

"Come away, Ser Pounce, before you get burned," Leonie commanded, once her voice was under control. "I do not think Loghain enjoys cats."

Anders snickered again and leaned closer to her. "Oh, I think there are certain cats he likes well enough," he whispered and she lowered her head to hide her smile. Ser Pounce leapt onto Loghain and they all burst out laughing as he stood, dumping Ser Pounce onto the ground, where the cat let out a screech before running to Anders. Loghain scowled at all of them before sitting back down, striving for some dignity, she was sure. Impossible now that they were all chuckling over his reaction. It was nice, she thought, to see that he had his odd quirks.

"So tell us a story, oh fearless leader. Tell us about why you have a peacock blue wrapper. I mean, it isn't _the_ peacock blue wrapper is it?" Anders asked in a stage whisper once they had stopped laughing.

Leonie grinned. "It is not. But it saved my life. Or at the very least, my sanity. Though there are those who would dispute that latter claim," she added, looking pointedly at Loghain. He raised a brow and there was a smirk lurking at the corners of his lips.

"Oh, this ought to be good," Anders crowed, rubbing his hands together.

"When Weisshaupt learned about my experiences with the Architect, they wanted me to pay them a visit. In fact, they were rather insistent that I do so. So off I went, as reluctant a traveler as you will ever encounter," Leonie began and for the next hour told them how she had come into possession of the peacock blue wrapper.

"So you did lead a revolt at Weisshaupt!" Anders whistled, clearly impressed.

"Of course not, Anders. The Wardens of Weisshaupt simply cleaned house and I was a mere spectator," Leonie chided.

"You'll pardon me if I don't believe you were just a spectator, Lion," Nathaniel chimed in and she rolled her eyes.

"Always you are willing to see me in much too kind a light. I am not the hero you believe me to be and the other day's events clearly bear that out."

"So Riordan sent the wrapper to tell you they were on their way?" Anders asked.

"Well, at first I saw it only as a gift to let me know I was being thought of. And that was enough to lift my spirits. It was not until I found the note stitched inside the cuff that I realized they were on their way."

"And you played the Grand Game, didn't you? All those sneaky deceptions?" Anders asked, his grin bright and beguiling. "Those were all your ideas, weren't they?"

Here Leonie winced, wondering if Loghain would understand why she had played the game, but she finally looked at him, saw that he was interested, that he wasn't looking all that disdainful so she nodded. "There are times when it is the only thing left to do," she explained.

They sat in silence for long moments, the only sounds those of the night music, and then Nathaniel stood up.

"I'll take Lion's watch tonight," he began but Leonie raised a hand.

"I am fine, Nathaniel. Anders has cleared me for duty and I will take my watch. But I thank you," she added, smiling up at him.

"Is that a good idea? I've checked several times and haven't found anyone following us but that doesn't mean that he isn't there," Nathaniel argued.

Leonie nodded and looked up at him again. "You are kind to be concerned but I am well, thank you. And with all of you so close, I think that if someone is out there watching he will not bother me in such company, yes?"

Anders yawned and then scooped Ser Pounce off Leonie's lap. "Come on, Ser Pounce, time for bed."

Leonie moved closer to the fire, staring into the flames. Loghain put his whittling aside and they sat in silence for some time.

"If you are going to relieve my watch, should you not perhaps sleep first?" she finally asked with a grin.

He stood up rather abruptly and she thought she might have angered him, that he was going to march off to bed without even a good night. Instead he moved to sit beside her.

"I find I'm not tired," he said as he slipped an arm around her and tucked her against his side. She heard his heart, beating quickly and strongly in his chest, and that became a part of the music of the night as well.

"I don't understand why…" he began in a low voice but Leonie reached up her fingers and gently pressed them against his lips.

"Feelings are not military campaigns, Loghain. You cannot strategize and analyze them. They simply are. They exist."

He found her lips in a tender, exploratory kiss that seemed endless and Leonie found herself lost in the sensation, the texture of his lips on hers, the feel of his fingers tracing the line of her jaw, the taste of his tongue against hers. And then he pulled away again, brows drawn low, leaving her breathless.

"That is a very fierce frown," Leonie remarked when she could finally speak. "Do you find kissing me such a disagreeable experience?"

"This is hardly the time or place for this kind of behavior. Nor is it appropriate," he said quietly and the sadness was there again and this time she allowed herself to touch him, to gently trace the sharp angles and planes of his face, to smooth out the silky brows. He closed his eyes, leaning into her touch.

"You are quite right, Loghain. This is not the time or place for this. But it is appropriate," she whispered fiercely and leaned closer to him, running her finger along the sensuous curve of his lips, before reluctantly moving away again.

"Now perhaps you should get some sleep so we do not get ourselves into trouble with the boys, yes?" she continued and he nodded, standing and turning away but not before she felt his fingers, light and callused, stroke her cheek.

The sounds of the night kept her company as she sat by the fire. Off in the distance she heard a wolf and the barred owl was sorrowful in response. But, when the whippoorwill answered sweetly in return, the owl fell silent.

Leonie smiled. If only it was that easy.

**A/N:** _Actually the mnemonic for a barred owl is "Who cooks for you? Who cooks for you all?" but cook didn't exactly sound right in the context of the story. The Whippoorwill has six different songs and I used a combination of two. Just in case there are any ornithologists out there._


	24. Chapter 24

**A/N: **_This is a rather abbreviated version of Kal'Hirol but really, we all know what happens there so I didn't want to rehash it in any great depth. Also, split PoVs in this chapter.  
Once again, thank you all for your reviews, for your alerting to the story and for following the adventures of Leonie and Loghain. _

**Dead Woman Walking**

They arrived in the Knotwood Hills at dusk the following day, setting up camp in the near dark. Leonie took a moment to look at her surroundings, realizing that these hills had once been mountains, as sharp and ragged as the Frostback Mountains. Unlike those young, arrogant mountains, these were ancient mountains, worn down, reshaped and sculpted by the loving hands of time and nature. There was a beauty in their gently rounded slopes and narrow ravines. Large boulders that had, for millennia, stood sentinel had long ago tumbled into the ravines, as if too tired to care anymore. And the golden grass she had come to associate with the arling, rolled in gentle waves across the hills, gleaming in the last rays of the lowering sun. Scattered around the hillsides, with careless deliberation, were squat, barren trees, twisted and gnarled by an unseen hand.

"It is quite breathtaking, is it not?"

Nathaniel looked around, startled. "This? It's just a bunch of broken down hills covered in knotwood, which is a pretty miserable excuse for a tree," he said and she laughed.

"Well, I see a poet lives in your soul," she teased and went back to the task of setting up her tent.

Anders and Loghain went in search of firewood and Nathaniel went in search of rabbits. As soon as she had unbuckled and removed her armor, Leonie sank onto her bedroll and closed her eyes.

Sometime later, when grotesque shadows of her men, caught by the firelight, leaped along the walls of her tent, she opened her eyes. She realized someone had called to her and she struggled out of the trap of her dreams.

"Lion? Are you unwell?" Nathaniel was asking and she realized she had been asleep for some time.

"Just tired, Nathaniel. Is it my watch?" she asked, rubbing the sleep from her eyes as she stood.

"No, it's just that you were calling out in your sleep," he explained as she stepped out of her tent.

Leonie tried to give him a reassuring smile as she pulled her cloak tightly around her. "Darkspawn dreams," she explained, which, she told herself, was mostly true.

The darkspawn dreams had come after her dream of storm tossed seas and storm tossed lovers. Her throat thickened with melancholic tears that wanted to find freedom. Her eyes stung but she turned toward the fire and her new life, trying to push away unwelcome thoughts and feelings. They refused to be ignored, staying just close enough to push aside her other thoughts.

As she sat by the fire with a bowl of cooling rabbit stew, she felt the overwhelming rush of loss that came whenever she dreamed of Duncan. Would he understand why she had made Loghain her second? Would he forgive her for allowing herself to care for him? Would Riordan? Was she betraying them by falling in love with the man that acknowledged he had quit the battlefield, leaving Duncan to his fate? She kept her eyes lowered, unwilling to look beyond her own troubled thoughts until she had her emotions well in hand. She was unaware of the others, of the conversations that ebbed and flowed around her.

Duncan's words in his last letter came to her, she could almost see the gracefully constrained script in her mind, hear his voice in the lulling wind that brushed with languid fingers against her skin.

…_be strong and live as you are meant to, not in the shadow of grief and regret. Mourn me if you must, but not forever. You have so much love to give. Let others experience it. It is all I ask of you…_

But would he understand? Would he forgive her? Was there anything to forgive? He, more than any other person in her life, had known her heart, known her soul. Did he still? Could he see into her heart even now and understand? Or was that just her own need to have someone approve of her actions? She wished he could let her know. She wished she didn't need to know.

"Are you going to stare at your empty bowl until it fills itself again?"

Loghain's voice, sardonic and slightly amused, interrupted her thoughts, pulled her back into the present, to the reality of her new life and new feelings. The wind, caressing her cheek, as gentle and loving as Duncan's fingers, seemed to give her the answers she sought.

"Will it work?" she asked quietly, aware that she was asking so much more. She raised her eyes then, finding Loghain's across the campfire. Saw another part of the answer in his softened gaze, heard it in his reply.

"I suppose anything is possible," he replied quietly.

* * *

They left camp early the next morning and an hour later came across the chasm that the hunters, Colbert and Micah, had described to her. It was, as she and Loghain had feared, a cave-in that exposed the detailed work of dwarven stonemasons, leading into the Deep Roads.

"Do we have enough of Dworkin's explosives with us to close that?" she asked, standing on a swaying wooden bridge that had once crossed the ravine below them and now crossed the stone floors of the Deep Roads.

"If we place them in the right location, we should. See that rock fall across the bridge?" Loghain asked, pointing to a large tumble of boulders.

"I think if you put them low enough, they should do the trick," Nathaniel agreed, stepping out onto the bridge and pointing to a spot midway down the rock fall.

"I can set the explosives off from a distance. Should keep us all safe," Anders chimed in and he too stepped onto the bridge. Leonie felt a moment of pure terror as the bridge creaked and swayed precariously under their combined weight. She gripped the rope that served as a hand rail and tried not to cry out in alarm.

"Perhaps we should continue one at a time," she said through a cotton dry mouth.

It was not until they had crossed the bridge that they heard the noise. At first Leonie thought it was the wind, whistling mournfully through the ravine, but Nathaniel was moving forward quickly, drawing his bow from his back and nocking an arrow in one fluid motion.

"Someone's down there?" Anders asked, appalled.

But Leonie was already climbing down a set of rickety stairs, drawing her weapons. That someone was a female and while her mind couldn't grasp why a female would be down in a ravine or the Deep Roads, it did pick up on the urgency of the woman's cries.

A tribe of deepstalkers, rising out of the ground, slowed their progress and Leonie brought her sword and dagger up, slashing with angry precision at the interruption. Loghain, fighting at her side, made short work of the tribal leader, a fierce creature with lethal green acid spit spewing at him. Loghain's shield was all that protected him from a face full of it and as the last deepstalker fell, he looked from his shield, where the acid had etched deeply into the silverite metal, to her face, and she permitted herself a small smile.

"You thought, perhaps, I was not telling the truth?" she asked as she moved forward.

They rounded a corner to the sounds of battle and she saw a diminutive figure, a woman, being dragged by one of a group of hurlocks. She realized, rushing forward, that it was a dwarven woman in the armor of the Legion of the Dead, and had her answer as to why a woman would be in the Deep Roads.

Plunging onward, she brought her sword down in a sweeping arc, removing the hurlock's hand and freeing the woman, who scrambled up and looked around desperately for her weapons. Leonie tossed the woman her dagger and she immediately put it to good use, gutting the hurlock before sweeping on to the next one.

It was only a matter of minutes before the last of the hurlocks was dispatched and Leonie rushed to the other woman.

"Ancestor's teeth, you have great timing!" the woman cried cheerfully, pulling off her helmet with a wince.

"Anders, our mage, can heal you, if you will permit," Leonie responded, motioning to the tall mage beside her.

"You travel with your own mage? You mercenaries?" the dwarf asked, suspicion in her vivid blue eyes.

"Grey Wardens. And from the look of your armor and tattoos, you are a member of the Legion of the Dead, yes?"

"Well, that's certainly convenient," she responded with a whistling sound of appreciation as she allowed Anders' healing magic to surround her.

"They nearly killed you," Nathaniel said, coming to stand with them, his bow still in hand, stance wary.

"Trust me, killing me was not what they had in mind," the woman said with a grimace.

"No, I imagine not," Leonie agreed with a shudder. Anders looked at her, the question in his mind evident by the raised brows.

"Anders, there are much worse fates than death," she said only, before introducing herself to the dwarf.

"Sigrun," the woman offered with a pert smile. "Dead woman walking," she added with a chuckle and Leonie found herself chuckling in return.

"What is the Legion doing so far into the Deep Roads?"

"Reports from our scouts came to us of a breeding ground, a group of broodmothers. The scouts stumbled onto a lost thaig, Kal'Hirol, and that's where…" Sigrun's voice trailed off and Leonie gave her a sympathetic squeeze on her shoulder.

"I am sorry for your losses, Sigrun."

"A massacre, all of them gone," Sigrun mumbled and her cheerful face crumbled with grief. As Leonie watched, she saw the woman push past the grief and reclaim her smile, though it was dimmer.

"Gone? You mean gone gone?" Anders asked in horror. "A whole legion of men gone?" His voiced registered the shock they were all feeling.

"I've fought with the Legion before. They are fine, honorable warriors," Loghain said, filling in the sudden silence.

"Huh. You surfacers have an odd idea of honor," Sigrun said around a sudden grin.

"What do you mean?" Nathaniel asked, his voice curious and quiet.

"We're a band of dishonored dwarves. You know, thieves and murderers, disgraced nobles," she explained. "And you know, casteless nobodies," she added with another grin. It was then that Leonie noticed the casteless brand on the woman's face, almost hidden under the tattoos of the Legion.

"You have much in common with our order, do you not?" Leonie said with a warm smile.

"Oh, right, I guess we do! Maybe if we join forces we can kick darkspawn arse and find the broodmothers' nest, right?" Sigrun chirped and Leonie found herself drawn to the woman.

"An excellent plan," Leonie agreed.

They entered the Deep Roads, the women side by side.

"We have to be careful. We weren't expecting the thaig defenses to be used against us. We marched right up to the front door like we owned the place. Sodding fools," Sigrun grumbled and the grief was there again, hidden behind her humor.

"Is there another way in, then?"

"Oh sure. We always build hidden entrances. Well, exits really, but they work the same. We just didn't bother looking for them."

"Darkspawn," Leonie hissed and felt the hot pinpricks of a large group. "Twenty, I believe. Anders, two emissaries. You know what to do. Nathaniel, stay with him. Loghain, I ask you to lead us in. Sigrun, stay with me."

The fight was long and brutal. Leonie's arms ached with each swing of her sword, each lunge and each parry. Her breath was coming out in short pants and blood and sweat clouded her vision. Loghain, shielding them all, kept the focus on himself and Sigrun was a whirling, spinning blur of death and destruction at her side. She took out one emissary and helped Leonie kill the other before they both turned to the main body of hurlocks.

Anders cried out for help as Nathaniel slumped to the ground. Cursing, Leonie fought her way back to them and with a cry of outrage, slammed her sword into the hurlock's head, cleaving it. Nathaniel, pale face nearly white now, was lying in a growing pool of blood.

"I've got him, Lion," Anders assured but there was doubt in his grim visage.

With no time to comfort him, or help, she was already turning back to the now dwindling main body. Loghain's armor was splashed with blood and he was tiring, his sword moving slower. Sigrun launched herself at a hurlock whose weapon seemed every bit as large as the dwarf. Leonie's breath, already labored, caught in her throat as she watched the weapon swinging down. But Sigrun's own axe bit into the hurlock's throat and he fell in a shower of blood.

Finally, when she was ready to collapse, the last darkspawn fell. As Sigrun began looting, Leonie ran to Nathaniel, kneeling in the blood slicking the ground around him. He was drawn, his dark lashes a smudge of soot on his pale cheeks.

"He's fine, Lion. It looks a lot worse than it is," Anders comforted, his hand firm on hers.

"I'm not fine. I hurt all over. Some mage," Nathaniel groused in a low voice and his eyes flickered open.

Thank the Maker, Leonie thought as relief washed over her like a spring storm. "Hurt is better than dead, yes?" she responded lightly, once the lump of tears had dissolved.

"Only marginally," he agreed and with a grunt, he managed to sit up.

She made her way over to Loghain, who was busy wiping the blood off his face. He looked up at her and his cool blue eyes narrowed. "Don't ask me to kill you again," he bit out harshly.

"That is a standing order, Loghain. I do not wish to become a broodmother and once you have seen one, you will understand why. Unless you would prefer I become such a creature?" she asked, surprised by the harshness in his voice.

"No, I do not," he bit out and he was so angry she could feel it coming off him in shimmering waves of heat.

"Then your path is clear, yes? You will be performing a great service, Loghain. I think our new friend would want the same," she finished, sitting down beside him.

Loghain's eyes locked with hers and she saw in them a pain, saw that it was the pain that was the source of his anger and her own anger melted away, receding into the shadows. She smiled at him, her voice gentle and calm when she spoke again.

"I trust you, Loghain. It is by your hand, and yours alone, that I know my death will be quick and painless."

He stared at her, mouth slightly open as if to speak, but finding no words he closed his mouth again. She reached out a hand and brushed her gauntlet clad knuckles gently across his cheek. Finally he spoke, his voice low and rough. "And would you be able to do such a thing if I asked it of you?"

Leonie sighed softly, clasping her hands in her lap. "If the alternative was for you to spit out thousands of hurlocks, I would do it without hesitation," she replied quietly.

* * *

She was remarkable and though he was loath to admit it, he couldn't help but see it. Even now, with the intense pull of so many darkspawn, with the crushing brutality of the golems, she was pressing forward, Sigrun never leaving her side. Some rare bond seemed to have formed between the two women as they shared glances and whispered exchanges of conversation.

He would kill her if he must but he couldn't allow himself to dwell on it because he knew, in that part of him that he kept locked away, he had come to care for her far more than he should. Far more than he wanted to. The respect and admiration he had felt earlier for her prowess as a warrior and leader had bled into something else, some awakening in him that he hadn't felt in so many years he wasn't even sure he could name it.

"Holy Maker!" Leonie exclaimed in awe and he followed her gaze, momentarily stunned by the tableau in front of them.

A golem the size of a small mountain held a darkspawn in his hands and a talking emissary stood near. He seemed to be controlling the golem and speaking in a raspy, scratchy voice.

"You will die. All sent by the Father will die," the emissary was promising and then he looked up, saw them and Loghain pulled his sword and shield up, taking up his protective stance. "The Mother commands it!" he roared, his voice guttural.

"You! You are not his minions. But who then? Who sent you?" he bellowed and then with a flick of his hand, the golem tore the hapless darkspawn in half, tossing the two pieces of the broken creature away from him like so much refuse.

"Who is the Father?" Leonie asked, her voice strong and contemptuous. Was she insane? Why would she deliberately provoke the thing that controlled a towering golem who was forged in steel and fire? He growled at her but she ignored him, issuing quick orders to them.

"Loghain, I want you to take these healing potions and concentrate on the emissary. Keep him too busy to control that golem. If you are injured, use the potions. Anders will be busy freezing and paralyzing that thing. Sigrun, flank right and I shall flank left. Do not stand in front or back of him. Nathaniel, concentrate on the emissary and aim high."

Loghain fought the urge to grab her and pull her back, nodding instead, knowing any argument he made would fall on deaf ears. He saw that her tactics made sense and he remained silent, giving her a quick glance. She grinned at him, returning his nod.

"Dead women walking," Sigrun laughed, coming to stand beside Leonie. He flinched at that but Leonie was laughing with her and with another nod, she charged in, her battle shout echoing in the chamber.

He was too busy bashing and slashing at the emissary to see more than a bit of the fight with the golem. He found himself praying to that absent god he didn't believe in as he heard the sounds of their battle behind him. It wasn't until the emissary lay dead at his feet that he was able to turn and move toward the golem only to see it collapsing in on itself, a pile of molten steel and rivets.

"Well, you Grey Wardens sure know how to kick serious darkspawn arse," Sigrun said admiringly, cleaning her weapons before storing them again.

"As do you, Sigrun. You are remarkably agile," Leonie complimented, pushing her damp hair out of her face and shooting Loghain a quick, reassuring smile.

The new darkspawn were hideous creatures, wormlike with gaping mouths that bit hungrily at them and though their legs were spindly, the creatures moved with exceptional speed. It was the sound that turned Loghain's blood to ice. Skittering high shrieks of madness that bounced off the cavern walls around them, echoing into the distance. He glanced at the others, saw they were experiencing the same feelings and he fought with renewed vigor, anxious to be rid of the insanity that oozed from them.

After a short break, Leonie led them on and stopped suddenly, clutching at her head, falling to her knees with a clang of armor hitting stone. Loghain rushed forward, dropping beside her.

"Broodmothers," she said, her voiced weak, edged with pain. "Six, I think," she mumbled and shook her head, trying to clear away the pain. He could feel something, a slight stinging behind his eyes, floating across his temples. She used his shoulder to brace herself, standing again.

They entered the chamber and the stinging turned into a sharp stabbing pain that seemed to pierce his eyes. He could only imagine what she was experiencing but her face, pale in the dim light, was determined.

Tentacles, great grey masses of fleshy tissue, rose up around them, flailing as they reached toward them. Sigrun and Leonie were hacking at them and Loghain found himself doing the same, without knowing what exactly he was fighting.

When they came to the edge of a deep pit, he saw his first broodmother and vowed he would never argue with Leonie again, would kill her as quickly and mercifully as he could. Huge, distended masses. Swollen grey rolls of flesh and rows of breasts swinging pendulously as the creatures struggled to reach them, eyes rolling in faces clearly gone mad.

"Too many," she whispered and he heard the sorrow, the horror in her voice. He put a reassuring hand on her shoulder and she looked at him, trying to smile and failing.

It was Sigrun who discovered the lyrium bomb, swinging slowly, high above the pit, hanging by three thick ropes of chain that were attached to large pillars around the pit. "You all need to stay back. That much lyrium will drive you crazy or worse," she instructed, beginning to move forward.

"No, we need to hit those chains at the same time," Leonie argued and Loghain agreed.

"Anders, that much lyrium is particularly dangerous to you. You and Nathaniel stay back," Leonie continued. She pointed to the far chain. "Take that one, Sigrun. Loghain and I will take the closer ones. On my signal, start hitting those chains until they break. Loghain, the minute they do, get back to the others as quickly as you can. These walls will protect us from the worst of it," she finished, moving forward.

Loghain felt fear. An unreasoning panic for her safety and it was by sheer will alone that he didn't grab her and throw her back with Nathaniel and Anders. She moved to her spot and raised her sword, waiting for Sigrun to make her way around the large pit to her designated chain. Loghain removed his shield, bringing both hands to bear on his sword.

They barely made it back before the bomb hit its mark and the air filled with lyrium dust and shards of metal. Sigrun moved through the dust, grinning. "That's that. Time for me to head back into the Deep Roads."

Loghain stared at her. "Alone?" he asked, incredulous.

"Hey, dead woman walking," she reminded him cheerfully, thumping her chest.

Leonie moved forward, wiping the dust from her face. "Stay, Sigrun. Stay and become a Warden," she offered, placing a hand on the dwarf's shoulder.

He saw her struggling with the idea and Leonie's soft, persistent voice continued, "Together we are stronger than we are alone."

Sigrun nodded once and her grin grew brighter. "Sure, that makes sense. Dead is dead, right? Let's go," she added and turned, heading back the way they had come.

"Make way, dead woman walking!" she called and he heard Leonie's laugh, sparkling like sunshine, trailing behind her as the two women moved toward daylight.

Loghain, walking beside Nathaniel, found he rather liked the sound of her laughter.


	25. Chapter 25

**Harbingers **

"Huh, I didn't expect a noble to have those kinds of scars," Sigrun said as she stripped out of her armor. She was pointing at the scars that Montran's whip had left on Leonie.

Leonie shook her head. "I am not a noble, Sigrun. I'm a Grey Warden, nothing more."

Sigrun snorted at that. "Just a Grey Warden eh? The Commander of the Grey of Ferelden, according to Golden Boy," she retorted.

They were down at a small creek, washing up. The men were at camp and she could hear the murmur of conversation drifting in the distance. She splashed the cold, clean water on her, shivering as the wind began to stir the grass.

"So, who used a whip on you?" Sigrun asked conversationally as she sat down on the bank of the creek.

Leonie glanced at Sigrun, saw the crisscross pattern of a woman who had suffered a horrific flogging and her heart went out to the young casteless dwarf. "A fellow Warden. And you?"

Sigrun's eyes widened at that. "A Warden did that? Ancestor's blood, what for?" Her voice was a curious mixture of awe and fear.

"Do not worry, Sigrun. Grey Wardens do not use whips as a rule. This particular Warden was not…" she trailed off, searching for a word that would not make Sigrun sorry she was joining their ranks. "Sane," she finally ended lamely.

"Can I ask another question?" Sigrun asked, slipping into her only change of clothes, a pair of well worn linen trousers with a multitude of colorful patches on them and a limp brown linen shirt, frayed and threadbare. Leonie made a note to send the woman shopping when they returned.

"Ask as many as you like, Sigrun. I do not promise to answer them all, however," Leonie replied with a smile, slipping into a pair of thick woolen trousers. She pulled her heavy linen shirt over her head, still shivering. The fire would feel good as the sun, now just a distant orange blot in the west, continued to sink into the heavens, leaving a gray sky painted with dull lemon tints. Long inky fingers of night were slowly following the sun's path and it would not be long before the stars began to make an appearance.

"Are Ser Gloom and the Old Man related?"

Leonie's laughter was loud and long, taking her by surprise. "I take it you mean Nathaniel and Loghain?"

"Yeah, that's them. I just…" the dwarf began and trailed off, blushing.

"Go on, Sigrun, what is it?" Leonie prodded softly.

"Well I forget names pretty easily so I just find nicknames for people. You aren't mad, are you?"

"Well that rather depends on what nickname you have in mind for me," Leonie replied good-naturedly and Sigrun giggled. It was not possible to dislike the young woman, she was an ocean breeze, sailing in tangy and fresh.

"I heard the others call you Lion. That's good enough for me," Sigrun responded and shot her a wide grin. "Not that you actually look like any pictures I've ever seen of lions."

"It is a puzzle," Leonie agreed, gathering up her armor. "And do you have a nickname?" she asked and the dwarf's eyes took on a distant look.

"Not anymore," Sigrun said somberly. Someday, Leonie resolved as she and Sigrun walked back to camp, she would have to find out why. But now was not the time.

"And in answer to your question about Ser Gloom and the Old Man, they are not related. Loghain is Loghain Mac Tir. Nathaniel is a Howe."

Sigrun let out a low whistle. "The Hero of River Dane is a Grey Warden now? How did _that_ happen?"

"That is a very long tale, Sigrun."

"And one you aren't going to tell me, I bet," Sigrun said with another irrepressible grin.

"Well, perhaps another time when my stomach is not clamoring to be fed, yes?"

"Yeah, I could eat a bronto," Sigrun agreed and they were both laughing as they entered camp.

"Ah, the maidens return," Anders said with a grin, looking up from the fire. "I suppose we can clean up now that the fun's over," he added with a disappointed sigh and grabbed his pack.

Leonie put her freshly scrubbed armor in her tent and grabbed her cloak. She saw Sigrun huddling by the fire.

"The surface is a lot colder than I thought it would be," the dwarf explained with an off handed shrug. "But it smells a whole lot better than Dust Town or the Deep Roads, especially the Deep Roads."

"Here, Sigrun, take my cloak. It may be too long, but it is very warm," Leonie offered and Sigrun touched it, running a hand along the thick fabric.

"You sure you aren't a noble?" she asked, taking the cloak and pulling it close.

"Quite sure. My father was a Grey Warden," Leonie assured.

Loghain stepped out of his tent, his pack slung over a shoulder, his cloak in his hands. The black wool was stark against the silverite armor. "Take mine, Commander," he instructed and extended it to Leonie, who shook her head.

"I shall be cooking, I am quite sure that will keep me warm," she replied and Loghain's brow shot up.

"What? You do not think I know how to cook?" she asked with a smile and now he was the one to shake his head.

"I know you don't know how. Aren't you the one who cooked the _black_ rabbit stew?" he asked with a feigned shudder. Or at least Leonie hoped it was feigned. That had been an awful meal, even she could admit that. And then she saw that he was teasing her. Teasing! And the surprise and delight of such a rare and remarkable occurrence made her heart flutter and dance in her chest.

"I think I still hate you," she replied and she watched as he made his way down to the creek, her lips twitching in a smile that reflected her delight.

"Ah, so that's why he keeps staring at you. You two _are_ doing it."

Leonie felt a blush creeping up from her neck and flooding her face. She blamed it on her proximity to the fire. "No we are not, if I understand your meaning, Sigrun." But her heart fluttered again at the thought.

"Does he really stare at me?" she couldn't help asking and Sigrun giggled.

"He almost walked into a tree, he was staring so hard," the dwarf replied with another giggle and Leonie couldn't help but join in.

"Actually, I'm really surprised you aren't going for Golden Boy or even Ser Gloom. That man looks like a younger version of the Old Man."

"Ah, I think perhaps I am older than you realize," Leonie replied and turned to the fire again.

"No, I'd say you just prefer seasoned men," Sigrun disagreed with a surprising amount of insight. Leonie swung her eyes back to Sigrun and found the young woman staring at her intently.

"I suppose there is truth in that," Leonie agreed quietly.

"So why _aren't_ you two doing it?" Sigrun asked, coming and taking the pot out of Leonie's hands.

"Least I can do, I've been cooking since I was old enough to steal…ah... _find_ food," she explained with a sudden blush of her own and she bent quickly and began to rummage in the food pack, as if to hide her shame and embarrassment.

"It is alright, Sigrun. I know you must have had a very difficult life as a Duster," Leonie reassured quietly. "And your past is your own, yes?"

"Maybe but you being such a lady and all, I don't really want to brag about my past," Sigrun answered, sliding the cook pot onto a rock that had been placed near the fire and slicing dried apples into it.

Leonie chuckled. "Sigrun, I am neither a noble nor a lady," she replied and then realized that was not entirely true. She was technically Arlessa Leonie, but that too was a complicated tale. Her life, she decided, was entirely too complicated.

"You didn't answer my question, Lion," Sigrun said, grinning over her shoulder as she added water to the pot and settled it closer to the fire.

"Ah. That is a complicated tale as well," she answered and Sigrun chuckled.

"It isn't complicated, at least not the way dwarves do it," she replied, shooting another grin at Leonie. "But maybe you surfacers do it differently?" she teased.

Leonie's blush, just recently departed, returned with surprising speed. "I believe the act is the same," she said dryly.

"Well what are you waiting for?" Sigrun prodded. "I mean he is older but he isn't too hard on the eyes."

What was she waiting for? Leonie pondered that as Sigrun stirred the delicious smelling stew. Rubbing her forehead with her fingertips, she sighed. She was waiting for a man who was too prideful for his own good to ask her, she realized. And with that came the realization that it would have to be so, he would not accept an invitation from her. _Maker, give me the patience to wait_. A prayer, a fervent plea to walk the right path, for him to walk that path with her, for whatever time they had.

"Don't worry, just keep smiling at him that way and he'll be tripping over his…himself in no time," Sigrun recommended wisely and then giggled. "Or just get him good and drunk and take him off to a bedroom before he sobers up.

Laughter bubbled up, replacing Leonie's momentary sadness. It was impossible to stay somber around the young dwarf. "I cannot imagine that Loghain drinks all that often or all that much."

"No, he looks like the brooding type, they never drink. They should, but they don't," Sigrun agreed and before they could continue the conversation, the men returned.

Leonie took third watch and Nathaniel's gentle hand shook her shoulder when it was time. She pulled on her boots and grabbed her sword and blanket and made her way to the fire.

The night sky was a ribbon of glittering gems, the air so clear that the stars all seemed to twinkle and flicker, so thick they seemed to flow like a river caught silvered in the sun. The wind had softened to a sigh and the fire was a beautiful bed of glowing orange embers. Even the night creatures seemed to have gone to bed for the night, the silence almost deafening.

Sigrun was a harbinger, Leonie felt, a herald announcing new directions, new discoveries about herself. Sigrun was fast becoming a friend and it occurred to Leonie that the last true female friend she had had was Marliss. Aura and she were friends but only on the very surface. There was no depth there as Aura, knowing Leonie was her husband's commander, held herself back. And while she liked Aura, she had never felt comfortable confiding in her as she had Marliss, and now Sigrun.

She had never had many female friends. Most of her friends had been men, her Warden comrades, and there were many things she had not felt comfortable discussing with them. A sigh escaped, a deep sigh of regret and times long forgotten. Men who had helped shape her and were lost to her now.

"You realize you keep sighing?" Loghain asked quietly and she startled, a yelp escaping from her.

He came to sit beside her, close but not touching. "You are worried that I will guard the camp as poorly as I cook, I presume?" she responded finally, staring into the fire.

"I came to tell you that I understand now. I will not hesitate, should it become necessary," he said solemnly and she turned her gaze to meet his, surprised by the sincerity in his voice.

"Thank you, Loghain. It eases my mind to know this."

"The Father that the darkspawn mentioned, that is the Architect I assume?"

Leonie shivered and he drew closer, his thigh brushing along her hip. "I think it must be. And the mention of the Mother makes it all the more likely that he wants me to be a breeder for him. I will not," she finished fiercely and her hands tightened into fists.

Loghain reached out and gently grasped a fist, taking it into his hand and absently rubbing the knuckles with his thumb. Slowly her fist uncurled and he clasped her open hand in his. "No, you will not," he agreed firmly.

Silence settled once more. Even the fire was silent, as if the life of the wood had been bled dry, glowing warmly and quietly.

He squeezed her hand, bringing it to his lips and kissing it softly before returning it to her. The silence returned, as if neither of them quite knew what to say to the other, to the change in their relationship.

"Sigrun seems a likeable enough recruit, quite skilled in battle," he finally said, as if the silence was too oppressive to bear.

"A wonderful addition to our ranks, I believe," Leonie agreed with a smile.

"You two certainly chattered and giggled most of the evening," he continued and there was amusement in his voice, amusement she was not used to hearing and she wondered if perhaps that too was a sign of things to come.

"That is not an entirely bad thing, surely?" Leonie teased, her mouth turning up at the corners.

"You look very young and carefree when you giggle," he replied and there was that reluctance in his voice again. That pulling away and she was not going to allow him to hide behind that veneer, that ridiculous notion that he was old and she was young. That was a fight she knew she could win.

"I am hardly young and carefree, Loghain. I am nearly thirty and for a woman that is dreadfully old," she answered with another smile.

"Well, thirty. Yes, quite an old woman," he agreed dryly.

And in the ensuing silence, his lips found hers, hard and lush against her own, his hands cupping her face in a rough and tender caress. She gave herself to the feelings the kiss awoke, the hammering of a heart willing to flee from its confines, blood singing with joy in her veins, a pool of heat tightening in her belly and flowing down with honeyed languor. She let her hands wander freely, one curving along his broad shoulders and one tangling in his unbound hair. His tongue washed along her lips, pushing beyond to find the warmth of her own and a moan escaped her, held breathless by her sudden need.

She could feel him tighten and tense and then pull away. "When we return to the Vigil we should talk privately," he whispered, a promise and her heart, already erratic and frantic, trembled and dipped.

Dawn begged to chase away the darkness, tentative pearlescent light heralding the sun's arrival and Loghain moved away again, but not before she felt the wild beating of his own heart against her hand. And this was surely a sign, a portent.

The first birds began to sing into the brightening sky, long and low and sweet. And though she knew that the coming days would be busy and difficult, she could not help but feel that the song of the skylark was also an omen of the joy that was yet to come.

They broke camp and began the long trek back to the Vigil. Leonie wondered if it was possible for them to walk any slower. She kept her eyes studiously away from Loghain's straight back as he took point. Sigrun walked beside her, chipper and cheerful and chattering.

"So, you look pretty happy today. Something happen with the Old –um, Loghain?"

Leonie shook her head and then chuckled. "Not yet. But there is hope, my friend. There is hope."

Free of the watch duty that night, she sank into her bedroll. She slept soundly, deep and dreamless, surprised when morning was announced by the noises of a camp waking up. Loghain was already rolling his tent and she wondered if he was as impatient for their return as she was but with everyone busily breaking camp, she had no chance to ask and decided it was just as well. She was almost afraid to mention it, lest he second guess himself and decide it was the wrong course.

Late in the afternoon, when the sun began to chase the horizon, the towers of the Vigil came into view and Leonie's heart began to pound, almost painfully, in her in chest. Her steps slowed and she took a deep, steadying breath, an unreasoning and ridiculous fear banging into her other emotions. This is what she wanted, wasn't it? Her heart leapt. Yes, it seemed to scream at her with each pulse. And yet she felt an overwhelming desire to run, to slip into the forest and hide. She was afraid and as she examined the fear she saw that it was the fear of loss, of having one more thing stolen from her. He had taken the Joining when he was much older than most and the taint was growing stronger in him, she could sense that. How long would he have before it overwhelmed him, called him? How long before she once again had to mourn the loss of someone she loved?

"Hey, Lion, get a move on," Anders complained, poking her gently in the ribs. She had come to a stop, lost in her thoughts. Loghain stopped and turned, watching her with a frown beginning to form but her panic was almost paralyzing now.

"Commander?" he called. She heard the concern in his voice, the curiosity, saw a flicker in his wintery blue eyes that shifted his face into grim lines.

"Sorry," she mumbled and lowered her eyes, forcing her limbs to move, pushing herself forward and past the panic.

Varel met them at the gates, his expression grave. He spoke to Loghain and Leonie moved forward, coming to stand by them. She caught only two words and she was running, her pack dropped in her haste as her feet carried her beyond them, and she boke into a cold sweat, panic and anger and grief catching her painfully in the stomach like a physical blow.

A warning, she knew, an attempt to hurt her and frighten her and it was working as she heard herself crying out, dropping into the hay where Vixen should be.

Another harbinger, this time of death. Vixen was gone, one more thing taken from her, and her grief was a high keening against the sudden silence of her companions.


	26. Chapter 26

**Learning to Love**

Seeing her pain, hearing the agonized, heartbroken sobs choking her, Loghain didn't care if he was old and foolish. He didn't care if the others saw him as a vain, lecherous man. He only knew that Leonie Caron was in great pain and he would not let her face it alone. He sank down beside her and pulled her into his arms, holding her while her grief flooded over them both, her tears burning into the flesh of his neck.

He sat there long after his legs had gone numb and the hard ground had played havoc with his back. He sat there long after her sobs had dissolved into hiccups and fallen mute, drying on his skin as her breath, coming in great gulps, slowed and steadied. He sat there feeling the even rise and fall of her chest, knowing she had fallen asleep from the shock.

And there, in the gathering gloom, amidst the earthy smells of moldering hay and leather tack, he discovered something remarkable. Himself. Not General Loghain. Not the Hero of River Dane. Not Teyrn Loghain and certainly not Regent. Just Loghain Mac Tir, farmer and Warden. Just a man. A stubborn, stiff-necked man, prone to quick anger and dark thoughts, bitter on the best of days, too proud by far, who was being offered a gift and he wondered, as he held Leonie in his arms, if it wasn't time he learned how to accept it.

The others had all made their way into the Vigil. Loghain wasn't sure he could even stand and there was no need to go anywhere for the moment. The plate of her armor dug into his armor, which in turn dug into him, but he continued to sit, just holding her and letting time pass. His thoughts were surprisingly calm, it was only his heart that was running a bit chaotically.

Finally she stirred, groaning as she struggled to sit up. He let his arms relax then, let her decide whether she would stay there or move away. She leaned against him and her voice was husky and raw from her tears.

"You must ache," she said and he grimaced. If she only knew, he thought wryly.

"Yes, I'm entirely too old to sit on the hard ground in armor," he said dryly and he felt the ghost of a smile cross her lips as she rested against him. She was silent again for some time and he was content to remain so as well.

"I am afraid," she finally admitted into the crook of his neck and he tightened his arms around her again.

"I want you to be, someone is intent on hurting you," he responded and he felt her shake her head. "A person intent on hurting you but not killing you is a dangerous thing and you ought to be scared."

"That is not it, Loghain. I am afraid to love you," she confessed in a whisper and he felt her tears begin again. "I do not want to lose another person I love," she added vehemently and her breath hitched on a sob. She tensed and he felt her wipe at her eyes, knew she was angry at what she considered a weakness. How had he come to know these things about her? How had she gotten through his defenses so quickly?

Loghain was silent, unsure what he could say to alleviate her fear. He had the same fear, if for different reasons. He continued to hold her loosely, trying to give her the freedom to make her own choices but Maker, it was hard. She shifted again and slid off his lap, leaning against the side of the stall, knees drawn up.

"I think the stable is not the most comfortable place for plate armor," she said and there was a hint of warmth in her voice, a hint of life returning to it.

"If it helps you, I'm afraid too," he found himself admitting, wishing he could recall the statement the minute it left his mouth. He fell silent, hoping she would not comment on it and to his relief, she did not, merely giving him a puzzled look.

Loghain leaned his head back, wondering if he was going to need help standing and that thought made him angry. He growled, reaching out to pull himself up. His armor creaked and he could only hope that it was just his armor and not his knees. He reached out a hand to her and she accepted it, stood up and into his arms in one fluid move and he bent his head, capturing her lips, felt the warmth of them against his own and knew that no matter where the future took him, this was where he wanted to be at the moment.

The others were waiting for them when he and Leonie entered the great hall. There was a certain proprietary pride in watching her straighten her shoulders and tilt her chin defiantly. She had an indomitable spirit and he could not help but admire it, remembering another warrior maiden with that same spirit. And for all that they had that same spirit, they were worlds apart and it hit him again how much he wanted Leonie.

"Whoever did this will pay, but we cannot allow it to deter us from our mission," she began, her voice still raw from her earlier tears. "There is much we need to accomplish in the coming weeks and we will all need to remain focused."

"Commander, I am sorry. I have the stable master's statement and Garavel is questioning the guards that were on duty last night," Varel said and his face wore his anguish. He loved her, Loghain realized. They all did. He looked at Anders and Nathaniel, both wearing identical expressions of distress. Even Sigrun looked pale, her tattoos stark against her skin as she looked at Leonie with admiration.

Leonie reached out a hand and tapped Varel lightly on the cheek. "You did not do this thing, Varel. I do not blame you," she comforted and then turned back to the business at hand.

"Sigrun is our newest recruit, Varel. I shall need you to prepare the Joining ritual immediately and have a room prepared for her, yes? In the same wing as the others, if possible."

Loghain stood back and watched as she issued orders and spoke to each of her Wardens, her face still bearing the signs of her tears. Finally she turned to him and her smile was soft, her eyes luminous. He felt his heart quicken like a young man's and he chided himself but it did no good. His heart refused to listen to him.

"I suggest you and I change while Varel is preparing the Joining, yes?"

He already _had _changed, he reflected as he made his way up the stairs to his room. And he wasn't sure what to make of it. Some burden, some _thing_ within him that he had carried for longer than he could remember, had lifted, or perhaps only lightened for the moment and it was allowing him a clearer look at what he wanted. And what he wanted was the woman who was climbing the stairs by his side.

She was downstairs before him, wearing a soft blouse and skirt, her hair damp, her face scrubbed clean of her earlier tears. She smiled at him as he came to stand beside her. Nathaniel and Anders were teasing Sigrun about her stature and she was giving as good as she got. It was surprising to him how quickly she was becoming part of their group. Even more surprising was how much he actually enjoyed these people, this camaraderie that surrounded him and his fellow Wardens. He had held himself so far removed from others for so long that he had forgotten how good it felt to have this sense of belonging, of friendship. Only Maric, and Rowan for far too brief a time, had really commanded a place beside him, he realized. Even Anora, whom he loved deeply, had not really ever penetrated the walls he had built, and that was a sad thought. Leonie had accomplished it so easily, so quickly. He would never understand how.

Varel entered, carrying a chalice, his face set and serious. Leonie's face was still and set as well and he realized how nervous she was. She was afraid for Sigrun, afraid the young dwarf would not be able to take the poisonous blood into her and survive. It was with great effort that he did not reach out and take Leonie's hand in his. A hush fell over the room as Varel recited the oath and Leonie took the chalice from him, holding it out to Sigrun. And it was Leonie who caught Sigrun when the young woman fell.

"She lives," Leonie breathed and the relief in the room was palpable.

Varel and Nathaniel carried Sigrun up to her new quarters and Leonie gave a weak chuckle. "It is the one thing I hate about the Wardens," she admitted ruefully.

"Well I don't know why, Lion. We all look so attractive, eyes rolling back in our heads, foaming at the mouth and collapsing like a drunken sailor," Anders drawled, his grin bright with relief.

Loghain smirked at that image, but there was a certain relief in him as well, more for Leonie's sake. He didn't think she needed any more losses. She glanced at him and smiled again.

"I am going to inform Terrill that she will need to prepare extra food now, and also see if I can hurry dinner along. Black rabbit stew, if I can manage it," she added as she departed.

"Ewww, tell me she was joking," Anders exclaimed, his face twisting in disgust. Loghain shrugged.

"She's a woman, who can tell?" Loghain asked and Anders chuckled.

"Good point."

This all felt so different, so new that a part of him wanted to reclaim his aloof arrogance, hold himself away and above these people. He felt unsure and it was not a feeling he enjoyed. But then Leonie returned, holding a tray of goblets and his forgot to feel unsure or uncomfortable because she was near and smiling up at him with all the confidence of a queen.

"We shall eat as soon as Varel and Nathaniel return, yes? I believe Sigrun will be unconscious for some time yet."

He saw, as he watched her, that she was trying very hard to keep the mood light as they all drank their wine and waited for dinner. But, when she thought no one was looking, she lowered her guard and he saw the hurt and the anger simmering under the surface. He placed himself at her side when they sat down to dinner a few minutes later.

"I think, perhaps, before we leave for the Blackmarsh, we should end the Grand Game. Nathaniel, do you think Esmerelle is the leader of this conspiracy?"

"Yes, but she hasn't confessed it, Lion. Won't be easy to get her to either. She is tough," Nathaniel said, reaching for another helping of potatoes.

Loghain bristled. He didn't think it was advisable to poke the hornet's nest at the moment. "If you aren't here, they can't very well kill you," he said reasonably.

"I want it finished, Loghain. I want to fight one or two enemies at a time, not three or four nameless, faceless things," she argued and he recognized the stubborn set of her jaw. He felt his anger gathering.

"You would put yourself out there again? You have a death wish I can't understand," he bit out and was only vaguely aware of the look Anders shot him.

"I have no death wish. I am simply tired of being manipulated and frightened. How can you possibly misunderstand that?" she asked on a rising note.

"Leonie's right, Loghain. We need to end this now," Nathaniel interjected. Loghain gave him a frosty glare.

"You realize," Loghain began, his voice flinty, "that whoever killed Vixen is not part of the conspiracy to kill her?"

"Of course we all realize it, Loghain. I do not believe any of us are quite as foolish as you seem to think," Leonie answered and her voice was heated, her anger sparking.

Loghain took a deep breath. Was he arguing out of habit? Because he was so concerned for her he wasn't able to see rationally? Or was he right? He reached for his wine and took a long pull before he replied. No, she was right. They needed to start eliminating enemies. It was the sensible thing to do and it galled him to admit it. He was gritting his teeth, angry at himself for letting emotion rule common sense. He was not used to it and he didn't care for it.

"Very well," he said, and even he heard how ungracious he sounded. He took another pull of his wine.

"Thank you. I want everyone in my office tomorrow morning after breakfast and we will decide how to proceed," Leonie said, giving him a look he couldn't read. Was she concerned? Surprised? Disappointed that he had capitulated so readily? No more so than he was, he thought grimly.

"Now, if you will excuse me, I want to check on Sigrun," Leonie said quietly and stood up, walking quickly out of the room.

Silence fell, as if she had taken the ability to talk with her and Loghain found himself in his room several minutes later.

He was nervous. More than nervous and that angered him too. He had never felt so out of control of his own emotions and thoughts. She was responsible and he scrubbed his face with his hands in frustration. He could try to blame her for these feelings but even he no longer believed it. Should he go and find her? Should he wait for her here? He cursed, low and long. Damn her and damn him too.

He picked up a pauldron and his cleaning kit, attacking the soiled silverite with a vengeance. He was polishing the last piece of his armor when he heard the soft rapping of knuckles on wood. His heart picked up speed and he tossed the rag away, the greave clanking loudly on the floor as he carelessly dropped it.

Leonie stood there, smiling at him, wearing her blue wrapper and, he realized with a flash of heat in his loins, nothing under it. She stepped into the room and stared up at him, her blue eyes wide and candid.

Tired of thinking, he gathered her into his arms and found her lips, feeling their softness as his hands ran along the soft curve of her waist and up, his thumbs brushing across the material covering her breasts. He felt the sharp intake of her breath as his tongue swept into her mouth and that sound inflamed him, he could taste the sweetness of her breath, wine scented, against his mouth, and he wanted more. Her hands, restless and hot, urgently ran along his shoulders and down until he felt them slide under his shirt and play against his skin and he couldn't remember the last time someone had touched him like that. Or if anyone ever had with such abandon. Her fingers were exploring him, trailing along his flesh like tiny, hot sparks and he groaned into her mouth, pulling her flush. His lips moved to that perfect line of her jaw he admired, kissing along it, nipping at it and he felt a need deep inside him that steadily drove his control further from his grasp.

They fell against the door with a soft thud and she smiled as his cheeks reddened. "Loghain," she whispered with such longing that he felt it ripple through his bone and marrow and lodge in his heart and she was pulling his head down to hers again in a kiss that sent his mind spinning away from him. Somehow, and he didn't remember how, his shirt fell to the floor and her fingers were scraping along his skin, pulling gently at the laces of his trousers and then her lips followed her fingers and his self restraint tattered, shredded, was gone completely. He pulled at the ties holding her wrapper closed, exposing her body to his willing mouth. His trousers slid down and he felt her hand, firm and caressing along his length and his need exploded in his blood. He pushed his smalls down and growled as she bit along his neck. Maker, he needed to feel her now, his mind screamed.

He wrapped one of her long legs around his waist and her mouth came to his again, hot and demanding and he gave it to her willingly. She was a breathless bundle of want in his arms and as his mouth found the sweet curve of her neck, he thrust into her and she cried out his name, urging him on with fingers that plucked at his implacable resolve, shattering it, as his growls turned into lusty, low cries of need. She met him thrust for thrust, her mouth never leaving his skin, biting and nipping and sucking and he was crying out, his world crystallizing and then shattering around him. He shuddered several times and rested his head in that same sweet curve of her neck, trying to catch his breath as he felt the wildly beating pulse there. He kissed it softly.

Slowly he came back to himself, realized how rough he had been, how selfishly he had taken, as he gently lowered her leg and she leaned against the door, her own breath still ragged. He was disgusted with himself. She deserved better treatment than his mindlessly battering at her like a rutting animal.

He looked at her, saw her hair, damp and curling around her face, saw that her eyes were still heavy lidded and her swollen lips were upturned in a small smile.

"I…" he began, not knowing what to say, what he should say, but she put her fingers against his lips, stopping him.

"If you are in any way sorry for what just happened, I do wish to know," she said quietly, moving her fingers away.

Loghain's emotions were in turmoil, a state he did not understand but acknowledged was more and more the case in her company and he wasn't even sure he minded all that much anymore. He was not nearly as angry by it as he should be. Maybe she was right, maybe love wasn't something to strategize or analyze. And that thought took the last of his strength away. He made his way to his bed and sank onto it wearily.

Was that what he felt for her? Love? Or was it just an old man's foolish lust and need to feel young again? He was a joke, a disgusting and pathetic joke and yet, here she was in his room, coming to sit beside him, taking his hand in hers and squeezing it gently.

The silence stretched between them as she continued to hold his hand, leaning against his shoulder. He didn't know what to say, was afraid to break the spell that had woven around them, afraid if he did he would wake up from a dream. He closed his eyes and waited to find words that would make sense of it all.

"I will not ask anything more from you then you are willing to give, Loghain Mac Tir," she promised, her voice soft and lilting.

"Won't you? That's an extraordinary promise for you to make," he muttered thickly and fell silent against a swirl of emotions that bombarded him. He wanted her to ask for more. He was terrified she would. He wanted her again, the surge of heat in his loins spreading outward. He was afraid to take her again, afraid to lose himself in her heat. He was falling, could feel it, and was powerless to stop it.

"I say only this, Loghain. Let your heart dictate to you. We both have duties that we are honor bound to fulfill but that does not have to define us, yes?"

"Does it not? I have spent the better part of my life in service to Ferelden, to duty. There has never been time left over to listen to my heart or anything else, for that matter," he said, bitterness oozing from his words like blood from a mortal wound.

"Because there was not time to listen or because you would not allow it to speak?" she challenged quietly.

"What does it matter? The result was the same," he growled and made to move away. He was not going to revisit every chance at love he had ever thrown away. Maker knew there had been damned few. His bitterness caught at the edges of his thoughts again, snagging at them, painful and sharp.

"I think perhaps it is easier for you to assume this angry, mocking shell than to open yourself up to rejection and hurt. I will try never to do either, Loghain, but if that does not suffice, tell me now and I will leave. I have no wish to make it more difficult for you than you make it for yourself," Leonie said sincerely and stood up.

Loghain growled, standing up beside her. "Impetuousness of youth," he muttered and pulled her into his arms, finding her lips in a searing kiss.

"Stay," he found himself whispering against her ear and felt her nod.

Was it really that simple?

He took his time then to learn her body, to learn what gave her pleasure. She was lean and muscled, her breasts pert, tipped with blushing pink and she purred when he took a nipple into his mouth and teased it. Her skin was soft and supple, both silvered and pink scars adding depth to its texture. And when he entered her, he watched as her eyes slid closed and her mouth uttered moans and gasps. He bent over her, biting the tender flesh of her neck and she gripped his shoulders, shivering in delight when he trailed along her collar bone and then up along the slender column of her neck. Her hands wound into his hair and scratched at his scalp, making his thrusts harder and faster as he felt the heat of his release racing toward him. She wrapped her legs around him, drawing him deeper with each frenzied thrust and her inner muscles, warm and wet, tightened around him as she cried out in her own release, bringing him with her and he flew right off the edge into her waiting arms.

In the predawn he woke to feel her kiss on his lips and he responded, pulling her close.

"You should probably go before everyone wakes," he rumbled, his voice thick with sleep.

"Are you afraid I will dishonor your name if I stay?" she teased, before pulling at his lower lip gently with her teeth. He felt her hands, trailing light fingers along his chest and down, skirting with teasing strokes around his hard length and he growled.

"Shall I still leave?" she asked with a grin and he felt himself smirking.

"Later," he murmured, capturing her lips.


	27. Chapter 27

**A/N: **_My deepest thanks to the reviewers, lurkers and people who have alerted to the story. You inspire me to keep going._

**Playing the Game**

"Sigrun, how do you feel this morning?" Leonie asked as the young dwarf entered Leonie's office.

"Like I was run over by a herd of brontos. Never thought I'd drink something that tasted worse than lichen ale," Sigrun grumbled. "Please tell me I don't ever have to drink _that _again."

Leonie raised an eyebrow and Nathaniel smiled. Anders piped up, "Sure, every week, just to keep the taint fresh," which caused the woman to pale.

"Only Anders has to do that," Leonie assured and motioned for the young woman to sit down.

"But – but you said we all do," Anders complained plaintively and Nathaniel snorted.

"Just you, mage," Nathaniel chortled.

Loghain was sitting by the fire, quiet and removed. He had withdrawn from her for some reason and she wished she understood why. They had made love just before the sun rose, moving with slow, tender assurance. Just thinking of it made her stomach flutter and her blood begin to heat. She had thought they had reached some new level of understanding but she realized with blinding insight that it would not be that easy. That it might never be easy. She turned her mind away from the thoughts and picked up her mug of tea.

"Nathaniel, how well do you know the layout of Bann Esmerelle's estate?" Leonie asked once everyone had settled into their seats.

"Well enough to find my way blindfolded, why?"

"I want you to draw a map so that I can sneak in," Leonie began and the room broke into pandemonium.

Nathaniel was shaking his head emphatically, slapping his palms against his thighs as he uttered his disbelief. Sigrun was busy asking Anders who the woman was and why Leonie would need to sneak into a house. Anders was trying to answer her question and argue with Leonie at the same time. Loghain was snarling his disapproval.

Leonie, finally having had enough, raised her voice above the others. "Quiet!" she roared, pounding her desk with a clenched fist. "You will hear me out before you go on a rampage, yes?" she added, her voice heated by her anger.

"What of her guards and her servants? Do you think they will just let you kill Esmerelle and stroll out of the house?" Loghain asked, his voice an icicle.

"I do not plan on killing Esmerelle. I think the shock of seeing me will be enough to loosen her tongue, yes? Nathaniel will be taking word to her that I am dead," she replied calmly and once again the room erupted.

"That is enough! I do not recall giving you leave to argue with each thing I say," she commanded, resisting the urge to scream in frustration, but only just barely. "I do not want another sound from any of you until I have explained the plan in its entirety. Do I make myself clear?"

One by one, she met their eyes and each one nodded and fell silent. Even Loghain, much to her surprise.

"Anders is to meet Lady Liza and her friends tomorrow. I will arrive at that meeting some minutes later and Sigrun and Loghain will be with me. I will express my disappointment in your deviousness, Anders. You will then hit me with that spell of yours that knocks things back, yes? And then a sleep spell."

Anders started to speak and she shot him her most withering glare. His mouth snapped shut and he nodded.

"Sigrun, when he does that, you are to kneel beside me and declare that I am dead, after which you will launch yourself at Anders and knock him down. You must make it believable, yes?"

"Oooh, sneaky! I like it!" Sigrun chirped, rubbing her hands together in delight.

"Do not disable him, just make it appear such," Leonie warned and the young dwarf nodded, quick little bobs of her head.

"Loghain, you and Sigrun are to disable the others. Try not to kill them unless necessary. If we capture them and have a trial, people will not try again, I believe. However, and this is important, allow one to escape. Do not make it look deliberate."

She turned her gaze to Loghain who raised one sleek brow at her and didn't speak. She continued to stare at him until he finally nodded once. He was furious with her, she could tell by the muscles twitching along his jaw, by his hands that were fisted on his thighs.

"Nathaniel, you will be in the shadows watching. As soon as things are finished, you are to go to Bann Esmerelle. By then she should have already received news of my demise. You are to confirm it."

Nathaniel nodded, a slow smile spreading across his features. "And you and Sigrun?"

"We will be right behind you and will hopefully be able to sneak into her house unseen. It is my fervent hope that she confesses to you but I have my doubts, yes?"

"She's crafty, I'll give her that," Nathaniel admitted.

"Yes, much as I suspected. In that case I hope my arrival will be enough to shock her into saying something inopportune. I do not wish to kill the woman, merely discredit her," Leonie explained.

"And what is it you will have me do?" Loghain asked coldly.

"You and Anders will be waiting. With any luck you shall not be needed but if there is trouble, Sigrun will signal you. I will give her my glowstone and she will find a window. The light is tinted a pale green, you will know it when you see it. Whatever it takes, yes?" she finished with a grim smile.

"Nathaniel, have you any questions on what your role in this entails?"

"No, Lion, but I…" he began and she cut him off with a curt wave of her hand.

"I know you are not happy with all these deceptions, Nathaniel. I am sorry to put you in this position," Leonie said softly. He nodded without another word.

"Anders?"

"I don't like it much, but I understand," Anders finally said, his face set into glum lines. She smiled at him.

"It is an excellent plan, Anders. Is it that you do not wish to have a woman throw herself at you?" she asked with a grin.

"Oh no, that's the only part I like," he said, giving Sigrun a leer that had the dwarf blushing.

"Don't try anything," Sigrun warned and his grin broadened as he waggled his brows suggestively. Sigrun giggled.

"Sigrun, do you have any questions?"

"You mean other than why we are doing this?" Sigrun asked with another chuckle.

"Ah, well, as to that. Many nobles in the arling do not wish me to be here and we have been warned of an assassination plot. We are merely beating them at their own game," Leonie answered.

"Oh. Is that why your horse was…" Sigrun asked and then trailed off. "Sorry," she mumbled and fell silent.

"No, I we believe that is someone else. We shall talk of the other later, yes?"

The dwarf nodded and Leonie was relieved to see the woman's smile return but there was an odd light in her eyes, a distant look, and Leonie wondered again what gave the dwarf such a look of sadness.

With a mental bracing for the assault, she turned to Loghain. "And you, Loghain? Do you understand your part in this charade?"

Barely contained anger, held at bay by the sheer power of his obstinacy, hit Leonie's senses head on. They were going to have an argument when next they were alone, she was sure of it.

"I understand a great many things," he ground out and fell silent.

"Then if there are no questions, I suggest we adjourn and prepare for the morrow."

There was a scuffing of reluctant feet and Leonie frowned. "Is there something else?" she asked quietly but the silence was broken only by the sound of chairs scraping against the floor.

"Oh, Anders and Nathaniel, please take Sigrun to the armory."

"Of course, Lion," Nathaniel replied quietly and she sighed. They needed something more, they all seemed hesitant and nervous.

"Please, all of you, a moment more of your time?"

She stood up and walked around her desk, resting her hip against it, trying to relax the muscles that were knotted with tension. Their concern for her well being touched her deeply and she had been unnecessarily hard on them. Another sigh escaped as her tension melted.

"I appreciate your concern, more than you can imagine. I do not do this with some foolish noble intent, but to bring stability to the arling. I do not wish to die, I do not wish for any of you to be hurt," she said softly. "Thank you all for your courage and your loyalty," she finished, pushing away from her desk.

"Sigrun, when you have finished in the armory, please find me here, yes?"

"Sure thing, Lion!"

Of course Loghain stayed behind. In very quick strides he reached her side, his hands gripping her upper arms tightly and then he lowered his lips in a punishing, brutal kiss, as if he could bend her will with the power of it. He released her so quickly she nearly fell over, balancing precariously on shaking legs.

"You stubborn, foolish girl," he ground out with iced heat. And then he was gone, leaving her furious and hurt.

She pressed her fingers to her bruised lips and discovered they were smeared red with her blood. Memories of a cruel night in the cellars of the Imperial Palace screamed in her mind, scorched her blood. Fury, and those memories, propelled her out of her office in search of Loghain.

She found him in his room, struggling to buckle into his armor. His bedroom door crashed against the wall and she sailed in on the wings of rage.

"If you ever manhandle me in that fashion again, by the Maker, you shall live to regret it!" Her words were a hiss of outrage as she glared at him. His eyes widened, a flare of surprise in their wintry depths. He reached out to touch her swollen lip and she slapped his arm away. His vambrace hit the floor with a loud clatter.

"You claim I am the stubborn and foolish one and I tell you this now, Loghain Mac Tir, I will not sit by and let you destroy what we have just found merely because you are _stubborn and foolish_.

"If you cannot separate what we share in private with our duties here then we need to end it now," she finished and tears began to sting her eyes, tears of fear and rage and hurt. She did not let them fall, they were not to be shared with the man who had provoked them. Turning on her heel, she marched out of his room in quick, angry strides, slamming the door behind her and she barely made it to her own room before the tears pooled and cascaded.

An hour later found her calmer and sitting at her desk. Sigrun came in, her face alight. "Look! Shinies! And I didn't have to nick them!"

Leonie looked up and stared at the matching daggers Sigrun was holding. "Why would you want to put nicks in a perfectly good blade?" she asked, baffled. She motioned for Sigrun to sit but Sigrun seemed too excited to.

"No, not nick as in notch. Nick. You know, steal? Pilfer? Filch?" Sigrun answered, fairly bouncing on the balls of her feet.

Leonie felt the color swim into her cheeks. There were times when the language confounded her completely.

"Ah, I understand. Your life of crime must be left behind, yes? Anything you need you must ask for and you will be receiving two sovereigns a month for your private use. Until then, I want you to see Mistress Lillith. She is a merchant who has a stall in the courtyard. Pick up any necessary items, including some warmer clothes. Tell her to put it on the Warden account."

Sigrun's eyes widened. "You mean I get paid?" she whistled, grinning broadly. "_And_ I get to kill darkspawn?"

Leonie laughed. "Yes to both questions, Sigrun."

"Is that why you wanted to see me?"

"Indeed, my friend. And to thank you for joining our ranks. I am quite happy to have you," Leonie replied and the young dwarf's face lit up.

"I like you, Lion. You're good people," Sigrun responded and then lowered her eyes. Leonie saw a silver shimmer of tears that Sigrun was trying to contain and Leonie looked away, giving the woman time to get her tears under control.

Varel found her late in the afternoon as she was signing the last in a stack of requisition forms. She glanced up, worrying her bottom lip with her teeth. The arling and the Wardens needed more money. Month end pay was going to completely drain the treasury.

"Yes, Varel?"

"I wanted to let you know that Alec and his family have settled in and he is a very fast study. He will make an excellent soldier," Varel answered, stepping close to her desk. She noticed his look of concern and sighed. There was more than a report of Alec on his mind.

"I promise to be very careful tomorrow, Varel. You need not worry."

"Yes, of course, Commander," he replied with a hint of irony in his voice.

"Loghain did not send you in here to try and dissuade me, did he?" she asked suspiciously and Varel suddenly found the floor riveting.

"Varel?" she prodded and the man's kind gaze finally lifted to meet hers. She saw how unhappy he was and her expression softened.

"No, Commander, he did not. But this does seem like an unnecessary risk to take. Wouldn't it be better to just kill the assassins and conspirators?" he asked hopefully.

Setting her quill back in its stand, she shook her head. "You have been a seneschal for many years, yes? You tell me, Varel. How will the people react if an Orlesian comes in and starts killing people that they believe might be innocent?" she asked gently.

Varel shook his head. "You're right, of course," he agreed glumly and she grinned.

"Do not fret so, Varel. I shall return unharmed and continue to confound your best efforts to teach me how to run an arling," she added with another grin.

She ate dinner at her desk, looking over the map of Esmerelle's estate and the route she and Sigrun would take once inside. Leonie felt emotionally drained from the day. She had made a concerted effort to avoid Loghain and he had obviously done the same. She finally pushed away the map and stood up. It was time for a calming bath and a good night's sleep though she wasn't convinced that sleep would come easily. Calling for a bath, she headed to her room, quietly leaning against the closed door, wondering how things had gone from passionate to icy in so short a time.

She had just slipped into her nightdress, lost in unhappy thoughts, when a knock at her door pulled her out of her reverie. Loghain stood on the other side, looking both anxious and angry. She held the door open and motioned him in.

"But I warn you I am not up for another scene Loghain," she said wearily.

He nodded and stared at her lip, healed earlier in the day by a very curious Anders, who had left her office thoroughly disappointed. She touched her lip with a rueful smile. "The miracle of a good healer," she explained and sat on her bed, legs tucked underneath her.

"What is it you wish?" she asked carefully after several moments of silence.

"Your plan is logical," he began and then fell silent again. Poor, proud man, Leonie thought sadly, sliding off the bed and padding to him. He was standing stiff and his words were stilted. She wondered if he had ever apologized for anything in his life and thought he probably hadn't.

"And?" she asked sweetly, a smile tipping the corners of her lips upward.

"And?" he echoed and his frown was bleak. She reached out and tenderly smoothed his brows.

"And you are sorry?" she guessed in the same dulcet tones.

"So it would appear," he replied dryly and she stood on the tips of her toes to look him squarely in the eyes. He met her gaze unflinchingly.

"Then there is nothing more to say on the matter," she responded and touched his lips lightly with her own. He stood rigid and unresponsive. She took a step back, shaking her head. Of course it could not be that easy.

"You think me an ill bred monster, no doubt," he said and his tone was mocking and cruel and directed at himself. "You think me another Montran."

"No I most certainly do not, although it would make things easier for you if I believed such a thing, yes?"

He didn't move, just continued standing still and straight as if he wasn't sure how to proceed so she took his hand and placed it on her waist and kissed him again and with a low rumble, he returned her kiss. Her arms linked around his waist and his own hands found purchase on her shoulders, where they stayed light and unthreatening.

"I understand my reaction was not fair to you, Loghain. You are not the only one among us with a temper," she murmured against his corded neck. She nestled into the cool dry skin and sighed, thinking he smelled of leather and soap with a hint of earthy musk and she could easily fall asleep now, resting against him.

"I imagine you had good cause."

"Oh, now I understand. I am allowed my reasons for losing my temper but you are not. What a curious double standard you have."

Another rumble of discontent and Loghain leaned back to look into her eyes, searching for something and, having apparently found it, he pulled her close again.

"It amazes me, madam, why you even want to be with me as you seem to have a list of my less than sterling qualities," he intoned and there was a jest there but also a slap at himself. "One I seem to have no difficulty providing you with."

"Truly amazing, I am sure, Loghain. I ask myself that every minute of every day," Leonie agreed, resting her head against his chest. "And then I remind myself that you have an equal number of sterling qualities," she added softly but he snorted derisively.

She remained quiet, leaning against him, as the last of her earlier anger and hurt melted silently away, evaporating in the warmth of his embrace. It was not up to her to convince him he was a good man. Until he believed it of himself, her words would fall on a deaf heart.

"But I will tell you a secret, my sweet and taciturn man. _My _heart has chosen wisely," she finally whispered and she felt his arms tighten around her.

"Now, either take me to bed or tuck me in. Tomorrow will be a long day, I think," she added, giving him a bright smile. With a growl, he swept her off her feet and carried her the few feet to her bed, his lips finding hers in a lingering kiss.

"Good night, Commander," he whispered with a gleam of humor in his eyes and dropped another kiss on her lips before leaving.

Leonie sighed, wondering why she had given him a choice.

* * *

Winds brought dark clouds scudding across the sky and they seemed to pile up around the Vigil in thick grey clumps. Loghain and Nathaniel were arguing with Leonie's choice of wearing oiled leathers and Leonie was doing her best to ignore them as she tried to memorize the lines on the map that would allow her access to Esmerelle's estate. Anders was complaining about the weather and Sigrun was watching the entire scene with a grin.

Rain started falling in fat happy drops by mid morning but after a few dozen drops, the rain stopped and the clouds moved on, as if they found the Vigil less than entertaining. Leonie felt besieged by her men and she finally sent them all out of her office and closed the door on their retreating backs. _Maker, get me through these next few hours without killing one of them. _

As she slid the map into her small hip pack, there was a knock at her door and she swung it open, prepared to scold whoever it was. It was Varel with a message from Didier. She tore open the message with shaking hands.

_Dear Lion,_

_You are missed more than I can express but I know Ferelden is in good hands with you in command. _

_Your request for additional funds will be met and I have already sent an oxcart on its way with one hundred sovereigns, ten sacks of grain, two bushels of apples and three barrels of salted meats. There are also ten Wardens riding with the supplies and the horses will remain with you. Expect them within three weeks of receiving this._

_What news of Kristoff? Aura is sailing from Jader soon, if she has not already done so._

_I expect a full report on the matter of the sentient darkspawn._

_Vigilance, my sister._

_Didier  
Warden Commander of the Grey of Orlais_

Relief flooded into Leonie. Supplies, money and horses. She could not have asked for a better gift from her old friend. They would be able to make it through the winter with those supplies. She tucked the letter away in her desk and then went in search of the others. It was time to finish the game and her heart was steady in her chest. She noticed, with a hidden smile, that Loghain had opted for leather as well and she took a moment to admire how well they fit his tall, graceful frame. There was nothing old about the look of him in the form fitting leathers, she decided with a rapid pulse.

Anders left first, shooting a grin at Leonie. "I promise not to hurt you too badly, Lion."

"Just remember, Anders. I know where you sleep," Leonie warned and he grinned.

"Stop by any time," he rejoined and she was laughing as he walked out of the gates.

"The game never goes quite as planned. There are always unexpected twists," Leonie said as she, Loghain and Sigrun started off fifteen minutes later. Nathaniel would follow closely behind them.

"Yet you didn't feel compelled to share that with us earlier," Loghain remarked with a raised brow.

"You must learn to trust as I do, Loghain. You are a man who is renowned for quick thinking. I know if something untoward happens you will handle it," she replied, supremely confident. She graced him with a rather sassy smile, her spirits buoyed by Didier's letter and the knowledge that the game would be over by the end of the day. He merely raised a brow at her but she saw a smirk trying very hard to form.

They slowed as they reached the Stark Farm, making their way slowly through the trees and into the fields, keeping low and quiet. Once she was sure that the conspirators had all gathered, she stepped into view, weapons drawn.

"Anders, you traitorous bastard! You will die for this!" she cried over the voices of the others.

"It's her! Kill her!" someone shouted and before she could take another step she felt a heavy fist punch her in the chest and she went hurtling backward through the air before slamming into the ground with bone jarring speed. She was asleep before she could complain.

"Wake up, Lion," Anders said and she couldn't understand why he was so far away. Her eyes remained happily closed.

"Come on, Leonie, time's wasting," Sigrun urged and Leonie blinked. Why was everyone in her bedroom?

"Commander, we have to move," Loghain urged and she felt a drowsy smile form. Now _he_ was someone who should be in her bedroom.

Water splashed across her and for a split second she thought she might be drowning. She sat up, spluttering, hair dripping rivulets of water down her face. She glared at the offender. Loghain was smirking.

"Nice of you to join us," he said, slipping his empty waterskin back into his pack.

"Have I mentioned lately that I hate you?" she hissed, rubbing her chest, which felt as if it had been kicked by a particularly mean horse.

"Sorry, Lion. Too much adrenaline," Anders explained apologetically and she felt the cool comfort of a healing spell surround her. She blinked the water out of her eyes and pushed her hair back.

Loghain offered her a hand and she was tempted to refuse as a matter of pride, but she took his extended hand and rose, brushing off her backside.

"It would behoove you to wipe that smirk off your face," she said with as much dignity as she could muster.

"As you say, Commander," he replied smugly.

She looked around then, bending over each of the bodies. She recognized Lady Liza, now sporting a rather large burn hole in her chest. She glanced at Anders, eyebrow raised in inquiry.

"She wouldn't stop, Lion. She was going after you with a sword to make sure you were dead," Anders explained and she nodded her thanks.

"And would you tell Shortstuff that she didn't need to bowl me over with so much enthusiasm?" he complained, eyeing a very cheerful Sigrun.

"Had to make it look real, didn't I?"

Ser Guy was dead as well, and his handsome face was no longer handsome, twisted into a death mask of pain. She bent over and sniffed. A lethal dose of poison.

"I suppose he did this himself?" she asked drolly, looking at the other three.

"A Crow assassin. He's over there," Sigrun explained, pointing to a dark haired elf lying face up in the dirt, still wearing a contemptuous sneer.

Leonie moved to him and knelt down. "Ah. And he apparently fell on his own sword three…no four…times?"

"He too was determined to make sure you were dead, Commander. I merely ensured he was unable to," Loghain admitted and then with a rather grim smile added, "And no, he is not the Crow I hired during the Blight." That brought whistles and exclamations of surprise from Anders and Sigrun.

"I am relieved. And did _anyone_ manage to escape?" she asked, fighting back an urge to laugh.

"Yes, and we should leave soon. Nathaniel is about ten minutes ahead of us," Loghain responded quietly and levity gave way to concern for their fellow Warden and friend.

"Then let us be off," she said and set a brisk pace along the road to Amaranthine.

Leonie had little trouble finding her way into the estate but once there, she and Sigrun found it difficult to find the salon where Esmerelle and Nathaniel could be found. Along the way, they disabled several servants and guards. They also took several wrong turns before finally finding the salon. Once there, she saw that there was a rather large problem. Esmerelle was surrounded by six rather brawny men. Brawny and huge, looking more like trees than men.

"Signal Loghain, quickly," Leonie whispered and Sigrun disappeared into the shadows.

"Good day, Bann Esmerelle," Leonie said, striving for a cheerful tone as she entered the room.

Esmerelle's eyes widened and her nostrils flared in surprise. "I had hoped you were dead, Commander. I see Nathaniel was not completely honest about that. No matter," the woman smiled, indicating the large men, who all looked quite happy to have something to do. "Your death is preordained. You will not escape it," she added with a twist of thin lips.

"Nathaniel, I thought better of you," Leonie tried to bluff but Esmerelle shook her head.

"I am afraid that won't work. I see that Rendon had every reason to be so disappointed in you," she added, casting a contemptuous sneer at Nathaniel. Leonie saw his face blanch, saw the pain in his eyes before he blinked and stood up straighter, hand on his dagger pommel.

"No more than I am in him," he returned with a quiet dignity that made Leonie's heart ache.

"Such a shame, really," Esmerelle sighed, waving to the men.

Leonie pulled her sword and dagger out, lowering herself into a crouch. She managed to take one down before another came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her. Those arms, Leonie felt sure, were as large as tree trunks. As he started squeezing the breath out of her, she bit into one of the massive arms and couldn't even break the skin. She thought she heard him laugh and she struggled, feet dangling off the ground. Her vision was tunneling, dark around the edges and blindingly bright in the center.

Leonie did the only thing she could think of. She flung her head back and heard the brittle snap of a bone breaking. With the sharp shooting pain barreling into her brain, she thought it might be her skull but a gush of blood and a grunt from behind told her she had hit her captor's nose. His arms loosened and it was only then that she saw Loghain, Sigrun and Anders had joined the fray. Leonie struggled against the man's weakened hold.

She fell in an undignified heap and scrambled to find her weapons, leaping up and driving her sword deep into her former captor's broad chest. He looked down at it and then at her with a hurt expression in his eyes before he started falling. She pulled the sword out and made a rather ungainly dive for Esmerelle, who was sidling out of the room.

Esmerelle was spry for a woman her age and had a rather vicious little dagger that bit into Leonie's thigh with the sharp sting of a wasp. Leonie pulled her fist back and let it sail into the older woman's pinched face. Spry but not hardy. The woman collapsed without so much as a whimper. Leonie felt supremely satisfied.

Before Leonie could gather steam and continue on, the fight was over. She sank onto the settee gratefully. Loghain, his face glistening with sweat, the small braids on either side of his face coming unraveled, stepped over the fallen tree trunk and sank down beside her.

She surveyed the room. It was a shambles. Chairs and expensive lamps were overturned, one chair splintered into kindling. Paintings hung like crooked grins on the walls. One had an arrow sticking out of it. It was a portrait of Rendon Howe. She wondered if there was some symbolism in that. A rather lovely carved figurine of a young woman playing with a dog was missing an arm. The dog no longer had a tail.

The six brawny men were either dead or being trussed up. Esmerelle was hurling surprisingly colorful curses at anyone within earshot. Sigrun was slapping Nathaniel on the back, grinning. He, on the other hand, was blushing and shaking his head. Leonie wasn't sure she wanted to know what that was about. Anders was eyeing Leonie's thigh with a frown. She noticed the blood trickling down her thigh and dripping onto the expensive silk material of the settee and grinned. The game was over and her fellow Wardens were well. And they had managed to capture the bann and destroy her salon. It was a good day indeed.

"The next time you get the urge to play a game, might I suggest a nice game of Wicked Grace?" Loghain asked dryly.


	28. Chapter 28

**A/N: **_My thanks to Arsinoe de Blassenville for the brilliant idea of who to give Bann Esmerelle's title and lands to._

**Decisions**

"I believe Constable Aidan will ensure Bann Esmerelle's stay in prison is not a happy one," Leonie said, glancing at the handsome if somewhat dour man beside her. They were walking slowly up the curving stairway leading to the private quarters to change. Leonie's leathers were blood splattered and sticking uncomfortably to her skin. A bath was definitely in order. And she was tired. And her thigh still hurt, though Anders' gentle touch had healed the wound.

"Helped no doubt by your vow to publicly eviscerate him should he not follow your instructions to the letter," Loghain agreed with a smirk.

"I have always been quite curious. How does one actually eviscerate another?"

"Preferably with a dull knife," he replied and Leonie stopped to stare at him.

"Why Loghain, I believe you just made a joke!" she exclaimed, a huff of laughter escaping.

"Nonsense. I don't make jokes," he replied but there was a light in his eyes that took Leonie's breath away. Standing there, his face free of its habitual frown, his lips curving into a semi-smile that smoothed the lines and angles of his face, he was quite striking. She reached out and brushed his tangled braids back, a languid flow of heat seeping into her blood, her want for him seeping into her with each beat of her heart. She saw her desire mirrored in his eyes, heard it in the quick intake of his breath.

"My room in ten minutes," he growled and they clattered up the remaining stairs with unseemly haste.

He was still wearing a bathsheet knotted low on his narrow hips when she rapped on his door. The broad sweep of his chest and shoulders made it difficult for Leonie to breathe and impossible for her to think. She reached out and let her fingers sift through the soft whorls of hair that clung to his chest and her breath caught in her throat at the sensation. She traced one of his scars with her fingertip, trailing down his side, a pale reflection of a previous battle.

"Molesting a waking man? You _are_ getting bold," he remarked with a smirk. Capturing her hand, he turned it over, dropping a kiss on her palm before moving to her wrist. His warm tongue flicked against the sensitive skin and Leonie's breath hitched.

This was not the cold man who was constantly arguing with her, but a warm, sensual man who made her blood as thick as warm honey. He was gentle, an unspoken apology for his earlier roughness, and Leonie felt her heart expanding at the unexpected grace of his lips pulling with soft restraint at her neck.

"Had I known how informally you would be attired, I would have dressed more appropriately," she sighed against his chest, the downy soft hair tickling her nose delightfully.

"Shall we correct that glaring oversight?" he asked solemnly before capturing her lips once more in a kiss that was hot and slow and teasing, leaving her swollen and impatient for more. Her hands found the knot of his bathsheet and with a deft move, it fell in a pale pool at his feet.

His fingers tangled in the laces at the back of her dress and she was tempted to tell him to tear it off her because she was impatient to feel him against her bare skin. But, if he was going to show such restraint, she could surely try to as well. His breath fanned the nape of her neck as he leaned against her and she felt his hardness pressing against her and even through the material of her dress, she could feel the heat of it. She gasped as his hands slid over her shoulders, pulling her dress along her skin and she gladly stepped out of it, turning in his arms to brush her breasts against him.

Her moan was husky as he pulled her against his body and she wrapped herself around him in her need to get closer. He moved them towards the bed and they fell across it. She moved up his body until she hovered above his hard length. With a shift of her hips, she slowly enveloped him with her wet warmth. She leaned down, trailing kisses along his collarbone and up along his neck. He tipped his head back, giving her access to even more skin and she bit softly at it before moving up until her tongue flicked against the shell of his ear. "Loghain," she murmured into it, voice throaty with need, and he groaned, low and deep and it felt like thunder rolling through her.

Their paced quickened and Loghain's hips bucked against hers reflexively, his eyes were darker, desire deep in their depths. His hands gripped her hips, firm and strong and she bent down, biting his lip, swallowing his groan and then she felt the rippling outward and the pulling inward, the heaviness of limb and blood and flesh and with an inarticulate cry, she felt herself rushing like floodwaters toward her release. He held on to her as her name fell from his lips and he joined her.

Moments passed as they both reclaimed their breath and voice. She curled up against him, eyes closing, only to have them fly open as knuckles rapped on wood.

"Warden Loghain?" Varel asked loudly and Leonie's heart, just recently calmed, began a frantic beat, mouth gone dry.

Loghain shot her an amused glance before calling out laconically, "What is it?"

"I have some paperwork for the Commander and I am unable to locate her. Have you seen her?"

Loghain raised his brow at the panicked look Leonie shot him and waited several moments before answering, "Give me a few minutes and I'll see if I can find her."

"As you say, Ser," Varel said and she heard his retreating footsteps.

"I'll assume by the fear in your expression and the lack of speech that you don't wish others to know about our _entanglement_?" Loghain asked, his voice carefully neutral.

She had hurt him. She saw it in the sudden rigid lines of his body, the thinning lips. She reached out to him but he held himself still, aloof. Why had she panicked? She had never cared before what people thought. Why would it be different with Loghain? She had to say something, he was moving further away, freezing her out because she had hurt him. She could not blame him, but neither could she explain herself.

"Please, Loghain…" she began tentatively but he gave her a cool, thin smile.

"I see I am good enough to bed, but not to acknowledge," he said and his voice was tired and cold. It felt like the last snowstorm of a long winter as his words fell on her.

"Do not say that," Leonie said, stricken. She reached for him but he was already moving away, pulling his clothes on.

"You should go, Commander. The seneschal awaits," he replied coldly and she hurried into her clothes, her fingers clumsy and unsure.

She turned to him, her hand on the door. "Loghain, we need to talk," she said and hated the pleading note in her voice. He did not turn to look at her.

"We can talk when you have answers, Commander," he snapped out, each word crisp and wrapped in ice, his voice stronger as his hurt continued to grow. He would brood over the wound, she knew and the longer he brooded, the colder he would become.

As she made her way to her room, she tried to understand why she had reacted as she had. She could try and blame it on her need to protect Loghain's reputation but that would be a lie and she knew it. What's more, he knew it. Loghain's reputation no longer mattered to him, it had been dragged so far down that, as he had bitterly reminded her recently, it could not fall any farther. Her reputation certainly wasn't of concern to her.

Changing into a fresh dress, she stared at herself in the mirror, seeking answers from the woman reflected back at her. Her men would tease her but that didn't bother her, Sigrun already knew she cared for Loghain so why had she not spoken up when Varel was looking for her? Tugging a brush through her riot of curls with ruthless hands, she felt her throat thicken as the answer whispered in her head. Her heart constricted.

She was afraid. She was afraid that if she made it real she would be hurt again. If she invited others to share in her happiness it would be torn from her again. She was still afraid…of loss, of love, of living as she had before, headstrong and sure.

She sank onto the small vanity stool, her brush forgotten in her limp hand. As much as she had thought she had moved past the fear of being hurt again, she had not. It was there, pulling at her constantly. She had lost so much and she wasn't sure she could stand to lose another thing. It dawned on her that she might already have lost something else. Loghain. A bleak, dismal thought.

The knock was brisk and Varel's voice called her out of her thoughts. "Commander, I need to speak with you about the Bann of Amaranthine," he said urgently.

Leonie stood up, trying to focus on duty. Duty would keep her moving forward, even if she didn't want to go in that direction. Even if she was _afraid_ to go in that direction. "Yes, Varel, I'll meet you in my office," she called and her voice did not reflect her fear, her confusion. It was steady and calm. Duty kept it that way even though she wanted to sit and cry, alone in her room.

The door between her office and Loghain's was shut. She wouldn't be surprised if it was locked. Her head ached almost as much as her heart but now was not the time to linger on her tangled, confusing relationship with Loghain. Varel had a number of papers in his hand and she had a duty to fulfill.

"Tell me about the lands of Ser Guy and Lady Liza. Do they have heirs?"

"No, Commander. Their lands are forfeited to you, as the arlessa. Ser Temmerly's as well."

"Can you show me on the map where these properties are?"

Varel looked at her in surprise. "Now?" he asked, glancing down at the papers in his hand.

"Yes, Varel, now. Do we not have many decisions to make before High Court tomorrow?"

Varel nodded slowly and was about to speak, but she held up a hand. "I will discuss the other matters once I have made a decision on this," she promised.

"As you say, Commander," he said and, moments later, was spreading a map across the low table by her fireplace.

"Ah, Ser Guy and Lady Liza's properties abut Ser Tamra's, is this correct?" Leonie asked, glancing up at Varel, who nodded, comprehension flooding into his expression and a slow smile spreading across his carefully chiseled features.

"Yes, Commander, they do. And fine property it is," Varel agreed.

"She is to receive the lands and dwellings. All monetary holdings are to be placed in a special fund that Mistress Woolsey will administer, to be used for those families whose lands have been laid waste by the Blight, to help them get a fresh start, yes?"

Varel's smile widened and Leonie saw an almost fatherly pride in his eyes. "A wise decision, Commander."

"Varel, if I promise never to tell a living soul, could you find it within yourself to call me Leonie when we are alone?" she asked plaintively.

Varel's lips twitched. "No Commander, I could not," he replied. Leonie sighed.

"Very well then I shall just have to continue to plague you with the request until you relent."

Varel's expression told her that was not going to happen and she lowered her eyes, flashing him a sly smile. "Someday," she warned before turning back to the map.

"What shall we do with Ser Temmerly's land?" she asked, fingers tracing along the borders of his land.

"It is adjacent to Ser Darren's property. Perhaps it can be added to his holdings? He is loyal and a fine steward to his lands," Varel replied.

"An excellent suggestion, Varel. Make it so."

She stood up, walking around the room, hands clasped behind her back. "Do I, as the Arlessa of Amaranthine, have the authority to appoint the new Bann of Amaranthine?" she asked over her shoulder. Varel nodded.

"Who has the authority to revoke the appointment?"

"A majority vote by the Landsmeet, or the Crown, with the support of the Landsmeet."

"And not the Teyrn of Highever?"

Varel's eyes narrowed as he shook his head. "You're thinking of young Nathaniel?" he asked, surprise and disapproval wrapping around his words.

"Nothing of the kind, Varel. Nathaniel is a Grey Warden. His duty is here, helping to rebuild and protect the lands," Leonie assured him.

Comprehension grew in his eyes, whisking away the disapproval, leaving only surprise in its wake. "Delilah?" he asked and she grinned.

"There will be some resistance to such a decision, yes?"

"Yes, but far less than you might think. Delilah was a voice of reason during the Blight and even before. People will remember her many kindnesses and the nobles will know that."

"Then perhaps we should reward such dedication and charity, yes? And right an injustice to the children of Rendon Howe, who were not responsible for the madness of their father."

"Teyrn Cousland will not be happy with that decision, Commander Leonie. He will stir up the Landsmeet and he holds great sway with the banns."

Leonie frowned but she remained determined. "When is the next Landsmeet?"

"Not until spring," Varel responded and a slow smile spread across his features again. "Months from now, months to convince the banns and the Arl of Redcliffe to see the wisdom and justice of such a decision, Commander."

"Just so, Varel. And I shall write to Queen Anora and explain my decision to her. Perhaps I should meet with Teyrn Cousland as well. I am told I can be quite persuasive when I try."

Varel's chuckle filled the room. "I have no doubt of that, Commander."

"Tomorrow, during High Court, I shall make these announcements, if you are in agreement with my decisions?"

"Yes Commander. I will write up the necessary papers tonight."

Leonie reached out and laid a hand on his arm. "No, Varel, not tonight. Take tonight for yourself. There will be time enough in the morning," she instructed. Varel shot her a look that clearly said he was going to refuse to do any such thing but, before he could voice it, she added, "That was not a request, Varel. If you are to call me Commander in such a manner, I shall be forced to behave as such."

"Yes Commander," he replied respectfully, all business again. She took the papers from his unresisting hands.

"Now, is there anything else that requires my immediate attention?"

"No Commander," he answered and with a quick formal bow, he left.

Before Leonie could sit back down at her desk there was a brisk knock on the door. "Enter!" she called, sliding into her chair. She looked up to see Nathaniel there, nervous and unhappy.

"Nathaniel? You look disturbed. What has happened?" Leonie asked, concern sharpening her voice.

Don't let her do it," he blurted out.

"Do not let who do what, Nathaniel?" she asked, puzzled and concerned by how serious he looked.

"Ser Tamra. She wants to join the Wardens," Nathaniel explained, his expression stricken. "I don't want to lose her again," he continued anxiously.

Leonie's heart went out to him and she motioned for him to sit down.

"You love Tamra, yes?" Leonie guessed.

"Yes," Nathaniel replied softly.

"Then you must let her make her own decisions. If you take this decision away from her now, what other decisions in the future will you take from her also?" she asked, meeting his gaze intently.

He shook his head, unhappy and confused. "Nathaniel, you know what it is to have decisions taken away, to have your life decided for you. Would you force that on Tamra?" she continued and his shoulders slumped.

"No, I wouldn't want that for her. But I lost her once and almost lost her again. If she doesn't survive the Joining I don't know how if I can bear it," he admitted thickly. She had never seen him so emotional, never heard those emotions in his voice.

"Life would be much simpler if we could wrap those we love in cotton batting and keep them safe. I know this. I know that loss takes a piece of your heart away. But you cannot hold on to that which you love. You must let it fly free and hope that it always returns, even knowing that it may not," Leonie finished sadly, understanding the pain and fear Nathaniel was experiencing all too well.

"You're right, I know you're right. I hated my father for sending me to the Free Marches, for taking away my ability to make my own decisions," Nathaniel answered finally, his voice no less emotional.

"Have you told her anything about the Joining or the side effects of the Joining?"

"Of course not," he responded quickly, clearly offended that she would even ask.

Leonie closed her eyes, weighing her decision carefully before she spoke again. Grey Warden secrets were meant to be held close and for good reason. She fought with her very pragmatic head and her very wayward heart. Grey Wardens were needed, there were so few of them in Ferelden. But Nathaniel had sacrificed so much in his young life. She rubbed her forehead before she finally gave voice to her decision.

"Then tell her. Explain that she is not to tell anyone, that the secrets of the Grey Wardens must be kept above all else. Explain that she might die, that she may not be able to have children with a non Warden and most certainly not with another Warden. Let her know about the nightmares and the pull of the darkspawn and that she will never truly know peace again, that she will live only thirty years, if she is lucky. I will allow you to do this if you will allow her to make her own decision."

Nathaniel smiled softly. "I promise," he avowed and with a quick nod of thanks, he left. Leonie hoped Magnus never learned of her decision, he would have her head and rightfully so.

Sighing, she rested her chin on her palm. In the sudden peace and silence, she knew she had to make a decision about Loghain. Nathaniel loved Tamra. He was not afraid to announce it to her, to others, and he had lost much in his life. If he could do so, what was keeping her from doing the same?

And then it came to her, a sudden blaze of truth, burning away at the fear. It was too late. It was far too late for her to protect her heart, or to pretend that what she and Loghain shared was just desire and lust and a need to be with someone. Her heart was already his, whether she said it aloud or kept it quietly to herself. And knowing that, she knew what her decision must be. For whatever time they had, for however long they were allowed, she loved him. Admitting that, sharing it with others could not diminish it or lessen the hurt in the future. They had now, and it would have to be enough. She had always known that with Duncan, he had given her the strength to accept it. Loghain would too, if she allowed it, if she admitted it.

Moving in quick, sure strides, she made her way to Loghain's door. She knocked and waited impatiently but there was no sound from within. She had to hurry, to let him know, to show the others that she loved that proud, battle-hardened, ill tempered, impossible, amazing man before she lost him much too soon and for the wrong reason.

He was leaning against a pillar near the great hearth, slightly apart from the others. She found her heart was beating painfully hard in her chest as she ignored the others assembled for the dinner bell. She moved quickly to his side.

"Because I am a coward, Loghain, and a fool," she began, staring into his eyes. "I was afraid to acknowledge us because I did not want to be hurt again. That is my answer," she rushed on breathlessly.

"Forgive me for hurting you," she continued, tears gathering and a few brave ones rolled down her cheeks as she lowered her eyes.

She reached out and took his hand in hers. Looking up, she met his eyes again and saw them soften, saw the ice melting, felt the hand that clasped hers squeeze gently, felt the rough pad of his thumb brush away her tears.

"I believe that dinner is being served, Commander. Hardly a reason for tears, wouldn't you agree?" he said, his voice slightly warmer. She sighed and leaned against him, announcing her feelings for all to see. He stood quiet and strong, his hand still in hers.

"I would indeed," she agreed with a radiant smile.


	29. Chapter 29

**A Perfect Autumn Day**

A perfect autumn morning greeted Leonie the next day. Endlessly blue skies, unmolested by clouds, stretched in every direction, the bright sun dazzling. The air was cool and the breeze was kind. It was a perfect day for a session of the High Court. Leonie had arranged with the constable to hold the session in the large square of Amaranthine to accommodate the large crowd she suspected would attend.

She settled a pauldron on her shoulder and began to fumble with the buckles when tapered, callused fingers pushed her hand away and set to the task. She smiled, unused to having help and surprised that Loghain had offered.

"You are silent today, Loghain. Have you nothing you wish to say?" she asked, smiling slightly as his fingers continued to move diligently about their task.

Loghain cocked his brow and said nothing but his fingers lingered along her skin after her second pauldron was secure. She leaned into the touch, gazing with longing at the rumpled bed. His fingers lightly flicked her cheek and she returned to the task of settling her vambraces in place so that he could buckle them.

"You seem unwilling or unable to concentrate this morning, Commander," he said with a small, smug smile.

"I suppose that your male vanity has decided you are the reason for my inattention?"

"Not at all," he replied but she heard the humor in his dry tones.

She stretched, rolling her neck, settling her armor more comfortably for the walk to Amaranthine. They would be leaving shortly and departing the following morning directly from the city to the Blackmarsh.

She was concerned for Kristoff, who should have returned to the Vigil by now if he was able. She was concerned for Tamra, who had agreed to wait until their return from the Blackmarsh to give Leonie her decision about the Joining. She was concerned about the day's session of the High Court and how the people of Amaranthine would react to her decisions. She sighed, her hands fumbling at the buckles.

"What is it, Leonie?" Loghain asked again as he stayed her hands.

"Nothing, Loghain," she answered, looking down at their hands.

It seemed, as she stared at their joined hands, that she was never going to find the Architect and there was a fear in her, unspoken and hidden, that they would not find him. That instead he would find her and the dark promises he had made would be fulfilled. But she was not going to voice those thoughts, not on such a beautiful morning and not to Loghain when their relationship was still fresh and fragile. The day was too gorgeous to be consumed by such gloomy thoughts. She was anxious to be out in it, to feel the warmth of the sun and the coolness of the breeze.

"For an Orlesian you are a remarkably poor liar," he remarked quietly.

"For a Fereldan you are full of the most flowery compliments," she teased and began buckling Loghain's breastplate. She had discovered, quite by accident, that he had a sensitive spot just along his lower ribs and she poked it, watching him squirm, his brows knitted.

"Impudent girl," he muttered.

"Irritable man," she replied, poking him again for good measure. He swatted at her hands and she bent once more to her task.

When they were both buckled into their armor, he went to his room to finish packing and she shouldered her own pack, strapped on her weapons and made her way to the courtyard. She stopped to speak to Voldrik about the ongoing restoration and reinforcement of the Vigil's walls. Loghain came over to join the discussion. She was surprised by the depth of his knowledge of construction but decided his ego needed no more help at the moment.

They were joined by Anders and Sigrun in the courtyard a few minutes later. Nathaniel had left early to tell Delilah the news. He had agreed that she would accept the news from him much easier than if Leonie told her. They would meet at the square just before the session began.

Loghain took point and Sigrun immediately came to Leonie's side. She was nearly jumping out of her boots, perky and pert and grinning.

"So, you and the old man are together, eh?" she asked, nudging Leonie playfully in the ribs.

"His name is Loghain and I assure you there is nothing old about him," Leonie responded with a satisfied smirk.

"Yeah, that's what I meant, Loghain, and oh? Oh! Imagine that," Sigrun chortled and Leonie felt the heat of her blush blossom in her cheeks.

"I'm glad. Maybe he won't be so sour all the time," Sigrun continued and Leonie snickered.

"We can hope, my friend. We can hope."

"Wow, look at that flower! I'll be right back," Sigrun sang out and went running over to a clump of pale blue wildflowers growing in the shadow of a large pine. Leonie chuckled as she watched Sigrun drop to her knees, bending over the flowers and sniffing appreciatively. Sigrun was like a magpie, always chattering and chirping and drawn to shiny new things. Leonie found it charming and endearing.

Anders wasted no time in taking her place by Leonie's side. "Well, I hope you know you've wounded my heart," he muttered, sliding a sly glance at her from under a thick fringe of golden lashes.

"That is not your heart, Anders, that is your ego," Leonie replied tartly and he shot her a grin.

"Well, that too," he said agreeably and cast another glance at her.

"If he hurts you he won't be able to run fast enough or far enough," he added seriously and she was touched by his air of protectiveness. Her throat thickened with emotion.

"Thank you, dear Anders," Leonie finally responded when her voice was under control.

"And he's old so when you need a young, virile handsome man…" he began, puffing out his chest and Leonie cut him off.

"I shall go to Nathaniel of course."

"Ouch. You are such a mean woman."

"It is a gift," she agreed and they laughed together as they continued on in the splendor of a perfect autumn day.

The streets of Amaranthine were crowded with its citizens and there was an odd air of celebration drifting in the gentle, sea scented breeze. Constable Aidan and a contingent of the guard, uniforms all polished to a bright sheen, stood in the center of the square and Varel, looking solemn and solid, stood with Captain Garavel and a small group of soldiers, all dressed in the new gleaming silverite uniforms of the Vigil's guard. Nathaniel, standing beside his sister and a tall, distracted looking man, waved to her as she and her fellow Wardens worked their way through the crowd.

"I am at a loss for words, Arlessa Leonie," Delilah began and for a moment Leonie was afraid Delilah would drop into a curtsy but instead she smiled a rather shaky smile.

"I think it is a perfect solution, yes? You have much to offer the people and they will thrive under your patronage," Leonie said kindly, with conviction.

Before they could speak more, a flourish of horns announced the start of the High Court. Leonie slid her pack off and straightened her shoulders.

"All those with business before the High Court gather round. You will be heard!" Varel called out and his voice resonated with confidence. He bowed as Leonie approached and she nervously surveyed the crowd.

"As is her right as Arlessa of Amaranthine, Leonie Caron, Warden Commander of the Grey of Ferelden, will hear the matter currently before the High Court!" Varel continued formally and with another bow, stepped back.

"Bring forth the prisoner!" Constable Aidan ordered and Esmerelle Nellier, escorted by two guards, was brought forward.

"Esmerelle Nellier, you are accused of murder, attempted murder and crimes against the crown. What say you?" Leonie asked, her voice much steadier than she felt internally.

"You would listen to an Orlesian?" Esmerelle shouted venomously at the crowd. "I am being held because she is afraid the truth will come out! She is a spy for Empress Celene, a puppet!" she continued, her voice reflecting bitterness and desperation.

"You will answer the charges, Esmerelle, or you will be returned to your cell," Leonie replied quietly, her voice firm. The crowd was hushed and only the sound of the soft wind dancing in the treetops could be heard.

Esmerelle, face pale and pinched, eyes furious and filled with hatred, remained silent. Leonie's eyes locked with hers and the struggle for power continued for several long moments before Esmerelle finally spoke.

"I am innocent of all charges," she spat, her tone both contemptuous and viscous.

Leonie shook her head slightly. The woman was not helping her cause and Leonie had no choice but to proceed. The crowd buzzed with excitement as Leonie called forth the witnesses. Each one confirmed that Esmerelle had been the leader of the conspiracy.

"Finally, I call upon Ser Tamra," Leonie announced and the crowd erupted in exclamations of surprise. Leonie continued watching Esmerelle, saw the moment the fight went out of the older woman.

"You are dead," Esmerelle whispered harshly at Tamra, her fear and surprise twisting her features into a caricature of herself.

"I would have been were it not for the bravery of the Wardens of Ferelden," Ser Tamra said, loud enough for all to hear. The murmuring of the crowd grew louder at her words, an angry buzz like hornets whose nest had been disturbed. Leonie felt almost sorry for Esmerelle. There was no love here for the former bann, nothing but resentment and anger.

"Have you anyone to speak on your behalf?" Leonie asked coolly and the older woman, shoulders now bent, looked utterly defeated as she shook her head.

"I hereby pronounce judgment on the prisoner, Esmerelle Nellier. All land, properties, entitlements and funds are forfeited. All titles are hereby stripped. You are to be taken to Denerim on this day, to be placed in the prison at Fort Drakon, where you will spend the rest of your days."

The crowd fell silent and Leonie shot a nervous glance at Varel, who returned her glance with a reassuring gaze.

"Take this prisoner away," she finished and stared at the crowd, drawing calm from the solid presence of her seneschal now standing by her side.

"Let it also be known on this day that Delilah Howe Beechem is appointed as Bann of Amaranthine. All properties, titles, entitlements and land formerly held by Esmerelle Nellier are by right and proclamation now hers!" Leonie announced.

She watched as Nathaniel led Delilah and Albert forward. The crowd remained eerily silent as the three made their way to Leonie's side and Leonie felt her heart slamming into her ribs, her hands shaking slightly. This was not what she had anticipated, the quiet crowd, and yet they did not seem hostile, merely watchful. She found Loghain's eyes, saw the pride in them, the reassurance, and she took a deep breath.

"Bann Delilah of Amaranthine," she introduced and the young woman, her smile bright and just a bit shaky, stepped forward.

"I am honored by the confidences bestowed upon me. I ask that you all give me time to bring wealth and respect back to our beautiful city. I will listen to all those with complaints and will do my utmost to give a fair hearing to all."

Leonie felt a stirring of pride for Nathaniel's sister. Delilah had been born into the nobility and it showed in each graceful gesture and word she spoke. Leonie felt her own confidence grow as she stood by the new bann.

A ripple went through the crowd, a stirring of voices that grew in volume, swelling like the waves of the sea and then a cheer, followed by another. Leonie's breath sailed out of her in relief and she stepped aside, allowing the citizenry to greet their new bann.

Varel stepped up a moment later. "This concludes today's session of the High Court!"

With that, the soldiers began to leave and Leonie made her way to her Wardens, thankful that court was over. Now, if she could just make her way to the Crown and Lion and hide under a bed, she would be happy, she thought as the crowd began to press forward, anxious to speak with the new bann. She saw Nathaniel talking with Tamra and then Tamra left with Varel, returning to Vigil's Keep.

"Garavel, make sure that Bann Delilah is not harmed. I do not think that anyone will intentionally hurt the woman but I fear the press of the crowd may be too great, yes?" Leonie instructed and he nodded, moving his men into place.

"I am going to procure rooms for the night," she told Loghain and began to move through the crowd. It wasn't until she was nearly out of the crowd that she realized he was behind her.

The Crown and Lion was quiet and the proprietor was happy to have customers. He was able to provide only four rooms and Leonie took them, wondering how fussy Anders would be at having to share a room with Nathaniel. She trudged up the stairs, exhausted now that the spectacle was over.

"Anders will not be happy about sharing a room," she said as she handed Loghain his key.

"It will build character," he returned and then moved closer to her, his eyes probing hers.

"Why didn't you hang Esmerelle? It was well within your rights to do so."

Leonie leaned against her door, smiling softly. "And make that harridan a martyr? I think not. Now she will serve as an example, yes?"

"Those years in Celene's court were not entirely wasted, I see," he remarked dryly.

"That cannot possibly be another compliment can it, Loghain?" she asked, her breath catching as he lowered his head to capture her smile with his lips before moving away again.

"Don't be foolish. I don't pay compliments," he finally replied and moved to his door. Before she could catch her breath, he slipped inside.

After she had washed up and when her hands were no longer shaking from the ordeal of the court session, she made her way to the market place. She wandered among the stalls, examining finely crafted blades and an array of beautiful jewelry but her eye was caught by the dressmaker's stall. A lovely dark red woolen wrapper, as soft as silk, with velvet trimmed cuffs and collars, captured her attention.

"I shall take it," she told the young woman and brought out her coin purse. "How much?"

"Nothing for the Arlessa of Amaranthine. Your patronage will be payment enough," the merchant replied, wrapping her purchase in plain brown paper.

Leonie took the package and pressed a sovereign into the woman's hand. "Your kindness it appreciated but kindness does not feed one, yes?" she asked softly and the woman bobbed a curtsy and accepted the coin.

"My thanks, Lady Leonie," she said shyly.

As Leonie made her way back to the inn, she found Sigrun joining her. "Too many tall people," the dwarf muttered and Leonie smiled sympathetically.

"Too many people, tall or not," she agreed as they walked on. The sun was bright and warm, the sky still remarkably blue and clear, the wind still kind and gentle. It was a perfect autumn day, she thought again, as they neared the inn. Her heart was as light as a bird's wing and she felt she might be able to fly, her happiness growing within her.

Nathaniel and Anders were sitting at a table, attacking a mountain of kidney pies and washing them down with mugs of ale. Leonie's stomach rumbled in complaint and she and Sigrun made their way to them.

"I am going to drop this off and then when I return, I have hope of helping you demolish those kidney pies and perhaps a mug of ale will have mysteriously appeared as well," she hinted and hurried up to her room.

"How is Delilah?" Leonie asked, once her hunger had been appeased.

Nathaniel smiled. "In shock, but I think she is happy. Albert is nervous."

"Ah, that is understandable, yes? But I think the knowledge he has gleaned over the years as a shopkeeper will help greatly," Leonie replied, taking a sip of her ale.

Nathaniel nodded, reaching for yet another kidney pie. "I think so too and he loves her, that can't hurt," he agreed with another smile.

The tavern began to fill with patrons and drinks were being brought to their table. Sigrun was teaching Anders and Nathaniel a dwarven drinking game. Toasts were being made by various patrons and Leonie was beginning to feel the effects of the ale. She pushed her mug aside but continued to watch her Wardens enjoying the celebration.

Loghain joined them, pulling his chair up beside Leonie's. She grinned at him. "I think the people are happy with the decisions of the court, yes?" she asked and pushed a mug of ale at him.

"And I think perhaps I shall switch to water," she added with a hint of a slur in her words.

"That might be advisable," he agreed with a smirk. She barely resisted the impulse to find that sensitive spot near his ribs and poke him. Instead, she rested her hand lightly on his thigh and grinned again.

Some hours later, when Leonie's lids were growing heavy, she discovered that Nathaniel had a remarkable singing voice, a rich, resonating baritone. He sang a ballad of a young hero, a knight in service to King Calenhad, and the entire tavern fell silent as he sang. With a lopsided smile and bow, he sat down afterward and soon someone else began to sing. She smiled at Nathaniel, wondering what else she still didn't know about the quiet young man.

Finally, Leonie stood and, with a wave of her hand for the others to remain seated, she made her way up the stairs and to her room. As she unbuckled her armor, she heard Loghain's steps and his door opening and then closing. She splashed water into her basin and washed quickly before slipping into her new wrapper and making her way to his room, tapping lightly at the door.

Loghain opened it, his eyebrow quirked. "That's new," he said, ushering her in.

"I thought that if you could wear new armor after so many years, I could do no less," she replied with a soft smile as she met his gaze. And there it was, that slow smile creeping across his face, softening his features and taking the hardness from his eyes.

"Did you indeed? And Fereldan made," he remarked, bending to kiss her. Her arms wound around him, fingers snaking into his dark silky hair as the kiss deepened.

A perfect autumn day led to a perfect autumn night.


	30. Chapter 30

**Black as Death**

Bleak. Dismal. Desolate. Gloomy. There were not sufficient words dark enough to describe the Blackmarsh, Leonie decided with a shiver. Long sage green strands of moss hung from twisted, dead trees like old veils, tattered and forgotten, hanging limp because even the wind was afraid of the haunted, corrupted marsh. Brackish water, as dark as night, as black as death, dotted the unwelcoming landscape. Mist, rising like the pale fingers of ghosts, wrapped around their legs, curled like a clenched fist in Leonie's stomach. And not a sound; not the rustle of leaves, not the scurrying of rodents, not the beat of a bird's wings stirred the air. Death seemed all that awaited any who braved the Blackmarsh. The Silent Plains had been desolate and dead but not in the same horrifying way as the Blackmarsh. There was evil in the fog, death in the air.

"This is not going to be on my list of favorite places," Anders muttered, his voice reflecting the grim atmosphere, deadened by the mist.

They were walking so closely together they were virtually one entity. Loghain was in the lead and though his face was grim, he was not showing any visible signs that the still, befouled marsh was oppressive; merely annoying. Sigrun was practically riding on Nathaniel's back, her bright blue eyes as wide as copper pieces. Nathaniel was walking so softly, so quietly, that any sounds his feet made were swallowed by the hungry fog that seemed to be following them as they moved further into the marsh. Anders was ashen and a sheen of sweat glazed his skin, his hands twitching nervously at his side.

Leonie knew, as they pushed themselves reluctantly along the trail, that Kristoff could not possibly still be alive. Nothing, she felt sure, could survive for long in the tainted and putrid miasma that hung thick and heavy around them.

"Father's stories of the Blackmarsh were not exaggerated. It figures that he would delight in telling tales about a place this disturbing," Nathaniel said in a hushed, bitter voice. A very odd thing to tell a child about, Leonie could not help but think, as she gave Nathaniel a sympathetic smile.

Traveling on silently, Leonie noticed the sun could no longer penetrate the mist, as if even it was afraid of the marsh and what lay ahead. A feeling of dread, omnipresent and growing stronger made her feet move only with great reluctance. Before she could call a halt so they could light torches, she shivered as, one by one, the torches that lined the trail began to flicker, cutting an orange swath through the darkness, lit by an unseen hand. Only by biting her tongue did she hold back the little scream of surprise that rose in her throat.

They continued on, their steps slow and cautious. Leonie, in the rear of the group, heard it first. A rumble. A low growl. She looked over her shoulder and stumbled to a stop, her skin breaking out into goose bumps as the hair on her arms rose. Eyes, a pale liquid yellow, narrowed and tipped up at the corners like a cat's eyes. One pair and then another and the growls merged, growing in volume, still dampened by the mist.

"Make ready," she rasped, her voice no louder than a drop of falling rain. She cleared her throat and tried again. "We have company," she said and her voice was louder but thin and reedy with nerves.

Bringing her weapons up, she turned her body and counted eight sets of eyes, moving closer through the mist, eyes glowing with an unholy menace. Loghain's voice, as strong and steady as ever, reached her ears just before the creatures reached her.

"Werewolves. Stay out of reach of their teeth," he instructed calmly.

The first one sprang at her, lithe and graceful and murderous. She threw herself to the side, falling to the ground and rolling before regaining her footing and shifting, her weapons ready. The growls had turned into snarling, baying, rabid sounds that split the mist, the very air, with wicked purpose.

She heard Sigrun, a shrill scream raised in agony, and Leonie, pulling her sword from the throat of one of the beasts, was moving toward the young dwarf. Sigrun's screams seemed to hang in the thick air, clinging to it, rising and falling, unearthly and tortured. Sigrun was writhing on the ground, her armor shredded. The beast was encased in a block of ice and Leonie brought her sword sweeping across the block, severing it and the werewolf within. Anders was already putting Sigrun to sleep while he began to mend torn flesh and Leonie moved on to the next creature, casting anxious glances at Sigrun as she went.

A streak of dark fur rushed by her and without thought, she flung herself at it, driving her dagger into its back. It yelped and howled and they went tumbling to the ground, inches from Loghain's back, rolling together, her arms locked around it in an embrace. Leonie was struggling to regain her dagger as well as her breath as the werewolf snapped and snarled. She yanked on the dagger, grunting as she pulled it out of the matted fur before she plunged it in again, twisting the blade and screaming in frustration as it finally bucked and twitched and fell still. She rolled off, panting and breathless, searching for her sword. Loghain kicked it to her and continued his battle. With a deep breath, she pulled herself up and plunged ahead. Nathaniel nearly emptied his quiver, shooting rapidly and with deadly aim but the furred creatures seemed almost impervious to the arrows. She heard a low hiss from Loghain but she was trying to avoid an attack, sinking to her knees before bringing her sword up in a long, arcing sweep that sent a werewolf's head sailing through the air. She toppled sideways from the momentum of the swing.

Finally, the last werewolf lay dead and Leonie ran to Sigrun's side. Pale, breath shallow and rapid, Sigrun's eyes were closed, her tattoos a stark contrast to her pallor. The claws had ripped through her armor and torn through her skin, leaving vicious dark trails along her chest and stomach. Anders was bending over her, no less pale, his hands shaking as he tried to heal her. He was exhausted with the effort, teetering on the edge, out of mana. Leonie reached into his kit and pulled out a mana potion, uncorked it, and handed it to him. He drank gratefully.

"Another," he urged and she complied before glancing up at Nathaniel and Loghain to make sure they were not badly wounded.

Nathaniel had a long, shallow cut along his cheek but, other than his hair tumbling out of its usual neat braids, he looked well enough. She tossed him a healing potion and then rummaged in her small pack for a poultice and bandages. Loghain seemed to have come out of the fight unscathed but he was as pale as Sigrun and sweat was dripping from him. His eyes were glassy in the dim light of the torches.

She stood up and went to him and she saw he was having trouble focusing on her. His breath was shallow and he was wheezing. "Loghain, where are you injured?" she asked urgently. He shook his head and sank to his knees. Leonie's heart sank with him, her pulse thready with fear. She knelt down beside him.

"Loghain?" she called sharply and he shook his head again, his eyes sliding shut as he pitched forward. She tried to catch him but his weight tipped her off balance and she fell to the ground, his weight pinning her there. She wrapped her arms around him and held on, terrified, her mind numbed by her fear. Nathaniel was at her side immediately. He moved Loghain off her and once she had caught her breath, she sat up.

"Check him for bite marks," he ordered, and she fumbled with the buckles of his armor, fingers refusing to obey, clumsy in her fear. She couldn't lose him. Not now. And what would happen if he had been bitten? Would he become a werewolf? Maker, was that possible? Her heart was screaming at her, tears stinging but refusing to fall, refusing to accept another loss.

"Do not dare, Loghain Mac Tir," she hissed, pulling at the buckles, her voice a plea. She wanted to shake him, to insist that he wake up, she was afraid to touch him, afraid he was already slipping away.

After an eternity, his chest piece was removed and she pushed his padding away. Only then was she able to see his injury. A wide, bloody welt, already purpling, had formed across his midsection, running from one side to the other. Something had slammed into him with so much force that it had buckled his plate armor, pushing the crushed metal into his chest, tearing into the skin. Anders left Sigrun's side long enough to examine him.

"Bruised lung and four broken ribs. He wasn't getting any air. It's no wonder he passed out. He should be fine as soon as I fix the ribs," Anders concluded wearily, after some very long and anxious moments for Leonie. Relief made her too weak to utter a sound. He whispered a spell and Loghain was enveloped in a blue glow. It was not until she saw Loghain's chest rising and falling rhythmically, heard the steady pull of breath being drawn in and expelled that she was able to breathe easier. She settled a poultice along the perforations in his skin and then wrapped a bandage around it before settling his padding back into place.

"And Sigrun?" she asked quietly.

"Bad. It'll take a day or two before she can move with any kind of comfort at all. She's lucky. Those claws came within inches of ripping open her stomach."

"Then we shall have to set up a makeshift camp here, unless you think you can carry her back to the base camp?"

Anders frowned, considering the alternatives. "I'd prefer to be back at the base camp with all the supplies. I can probably carry her back if you think we'll be safe."

"Nathaniel, go back with them. The base camp should be safe enough, it is far enough away from the marsh. As soon as you have them settled come back here. Bring more healing potions, poultices, waterskins and bandages with you. Stay to the shadows as much as possible on the way back, yes?" Leonie instructed, her voice surprisingly calm. Her thoughts and emotions were chaotic.

Nathaniel shook his head, staring at her as if she had finally lost her mind. "And leave you alone with an unconscious man?"

"I think the danger is over, yes?" she asked, glancing around at the dead werewolves. There was no evidence of more in the vicinity. She turned to the mage. She would have to trust her instincts. And her prayers.

"Anders, if we are not back in three days you must travel to the Vigil and bring help," she continued quietly.

"What? No! Sigrun should be well enough by then and we'll just come get you," Anders argued vehemently.

"Please, Anders, do not argue. If we three cannot manage what is here, you have no hope of doing so with just Sigrun. Do as I say," she ordered firmly.

Anders picked up his staff and healing kit, tossing her another healing potion before he swung it onto his back. He was glaring at her.

"Loghain's right. You really are incredibly stubborn," he announced as he started off. He turned and came back, placing his hand on her shoulder. "So use that stubbornness to stay safe?" he implored and then moved slowly back toward the camp.

Nathaniel picked Sigrun up very gently and followed after Anders. She watched them swallowed by the mist, wondering how long it would be before Nathaniel returned. Her unease grew, making it impossible to sit still.

Anders had said Loghain would sleep for at least another hour. Leonie struggled to her feet and began to gather little bits of dead wood, keeping close to Loghain's prone figure. His color was beginning to return and he appeared to be sleeping deeply. She found her glance sliding time and again to the rise and fall of his chest, the need to reassure herself that he was still breathing almost primal in its urgency.

The mist continued to thicken and her sense of time was lost in it. She realized after she had collected a small pile of dead wood that there was no real need for a fire. She was shivering but it was still warm, the air thick and damp, but not cold. She was shivering from the shock, from the sudden loss of the adrenaline that had pumped through her during the battle. But the air was sultry. It was as if even the cool autumn air could not penetrate the fog. That was not a comforting thought.

Loghain's breastplate was useless. She moved it aside and sat down beside him, waiting for Nathaniel's return and for Loghain to wake. It was inevitable that one of them, or both of them, would be wounded, fighting side by side. She would have to learn to govern her emotions, tamp down the fear and anxiety, she knew. The only other choices were to send him on to Montsimmard or leave him behind at the Vigil and she was not prepared to do either. She pulled her knees up to her chest and rested her cheekthere, eyes closing. In all the time she had spent with Duncan, they had rarely fought together and she finally understood why he had not brought her to Ferelden as his second.

"Lion?" Nathaniel asked, appearing out of the mist like an apparition. Her head whipped up, eyes wide.

"Maker's breath, Nathaniel, you frightened me!" she exclaimed, moving to stand up, heart beating rapidly.

"How is Sigrun?" she asked when her heart had slowed.

"Uncomfortable but awake. She isn't any happier than Anders about being left behind. I don't blame them," he added, fixing her with an accusatory stare.

"Nathaniel, we have wasted enough time on other issues. We need to stop these sentient darkspawn. We have to discover who this 'Mother' is and where the Architect is. We have to press forward."

Nathaniel nodded slowly. "Just because you're right doesn't mean I have to like it," he said quietly.

"I do not relish the idea of a fight without them either, Nathaniel. But we must end this, yes?"

"Yes," he agreed reluctantly.

They shared a light meal of hard biscuits and salted meat. Loghain stirred just as they were finishing the last of their meal. He sat up, running a hand through his hair. She held out a waterskin and he took it silently.

"Sigrun?" he asked after he had taken his fill and handed it back to Leonie.

"Her injuries will take a day or two to heal. Nathaniel took her back to camp and Anders is there to watch over her."

Loghain's mouth was grim, his eyes shadowed as he studied her. She found her chin tipping up defiantly. "We are pressing forward," she continued.

His eyebrow drifted up and his mouth tightened further but to her surprise he only nodded. It was her turn to raise a brow at him. "I see by the set of your jaw that arguing will only delay us further, Commander," he answered her silent query.

Nathaniel explored the area as Loghain ate. "You will be happy to know your Orlesian breastplate is beyond repair unless you have an anvil and smithing tools in your pack?" Leonie remarked, watching him as he ate, reassuring herself that he was here and well. She gripped her hands in her lap to stop their incessant need to reach out and touch him.

"No, I'm afraid I left that back at the Vigil," he replied sardonically and continued eating.

"Then you must let me use your shield and I shall take point, yes?"

"Must I?" he asked and there was a challenge in his voice.

"I suppose that you could take point and defend us, at least until the first blow to your upper body. Then I think you will regret such an action, should you survive it."

Nathaniel returned a short time later, a bow and quiver in his hands. "Found this in a chest in one of the tumble-downs."

"Tumble downs?" she asked curiously.

"Shack. A shanty. Well, more like a lean-to, actually."

She took the proffered items and handed them over to Loghain. "Perhaps you should use these? I have heard rumors that you were once a very able archer," she said and he took them, immediately testing the balance and running a practiced hand along the curve of the limbs, tested the tension of the bowstring. He wrapped his hand around the riser and it seemed to fit his grip perfectly. With a satisfied grunt he slid the quiver onto his back.

They started off, Leonie taking point. The unfamiliar weight of the shield on her left forearm was oddly comforting. It kept her mind focused on the task at hand and not on the eerie silence of the marsh. Her eyes were straining to see into the near distance but it was impossible to see through the mist that clung to the air like thick spider webs. She fought the urge to swipe at it, to brush it aside, so thick was it.

She literally stumbled across two dead genlocks, unseen in the fog. She knelt beside them, examining them carefully. They had been dead for some time. The stench of their rotting corpses befouled the already corrupted air. Had Kristoff killed them? Hope sprang to life in her. Could he still be alive? She couldn't imagine how anyone could have been lost in the mist for as long as he had and not gone insane. It was like walking blind and her eyes ached with the strain of it.

His tent had been erected on a slight rise near a pond of brackish, tainted water. She searched it for any sign that he might be alive and found only an empty journal, the small sketch she had made for him of Aura, and some moldy food. He had not been at his camp in some time. The certainty that he was dead could not be overcome by her slender thread of hope. She bowed her head, fighting off the tears that formed like gathering dew behind her closed lids.

"Commander!" Nathaniel's voice, echoing dissonantly off the thick fog, brought her back to the dangerous position they were in.

Loghain helped her to her feet and they found Nathaniel standing before a shimmering green curtain, insubstantial yet impenetrable. "What is this?" she asked, glancing at Loghain, whose face was taut and as bleak as she had ever seen it, as bleak as the marsh itself.

"I believe that is a tear in the Veil," he replied grimly.

"Andraste's grace!"

"That would explain some of this," he added as they backed away from it and made their way once again to the trail.

"The Baroness was a mage, by all the accounts. Maybe this is her doing," Nathaniel added as they wound their way through the Blackmarsh.

"The notes we found at the Crown and Lion spoke of rumors about talking darkspawn here. Do you think they are able to traverse the Fade now?" Leonie asked suddenly, her face paling.

"We know the Architect can. It seems likely that the talking darkspawn are capable of dreaming and walking the Fade," Loghain responded thoughtfully.

It took every ounce of her stubborn determination not to turn around and run through the mist to the safety of their base camp. She knew very little about the Veil and the Fade, only what Ceres and Marcus had described over the years. Superstition and fear would get the upper hand if she allowed, but there was no going back, they needed to press forward.

Once again she stumbled over a body and as she fell to her knees, she saw in the flickering glow of the torches that it was Kristoff and he had been dead for a long time, his body putrefying, decomposing. Rotten and smelling like death and decay, rancid. It was only the moisture in the air that had kept his skin almost mummified.

Her scream rose unbidden, ripping through the fog. Loghain's hand, painfully firm on the back of her neck silenced her. Kristoff had become a nightmare. The skin of his ruined face stretched beyond its limits, torn in places, exposing the bone underneath. Leonie's mind went blank as she forced herself to look away. Loghain knelt beside her and she heard his voice through a long dark tunnel. He was comforting her, urging her to move and she wanted to, she had to, but she seemed to be frozen in place.

Hot tugs at her blood, prickling, demanding to be released from their prison in her veins snapped her back to the present.

"Darkspawn," she whispered to Loghain and they both stood up, weapons drawn. Leonie settled the shield on her forearm, sword arm up and bent, knees flexing, ready for the attack. Nathaniel and Loghain had drawn their bows, nocked arrows, were as ready as Leonie for battle.

No attack came, only a hurlock, wearing gleaming chainmail, with strangely intelligent dark eyes, who was speaking in a harsh, guttural accent.

"Mother was right. Mother is always right. You were foolish enough to come for this Warden, to walk into our trap. Humans are always foolish."

Leonie moved forward, sword pointed at his throat. "Who is this Mother you speak of? A coward who will send only her ignorant pawns?" she asked, continuing to move toward him, her anger and grief welling, rising above her fear to strengthen her voice.

"No, the Mother guides us, loves us!" the darkspawn cried angrily. "I am the First! Her First. I serve only her!"

Love? Anger? Not only talking, sentient darkspawn, they now possessed emotions? A horrifying thought that left her dry mouthed and weak-kneed for a moment but then Leonie forced herself to flex her sword arm, bringing her shield arm up as she pressed forward.

"Enough talk. Tell us where this Mother is and we will spare your life," she demanded.

The First laughed triumphantly, bringing forth a glowing orb that dissipated the swirling mist and bathed them in a green glow. She felt pulled in and darkness was rushing to meet her.

Her last thought was that the Blackmarsh was indeed black. As black as death.


	31. Chapter 31

**A/N: **_With apologies to Shakespeare for the title of this chapter. _

**Perchance to Dream**

Loghain sat at the table, watching his son hurriedly slide into his chair, dark hair ruffled and unkempt, face newly scrubbed.

"Sorry Father, I wanted to check on the new calf," Gareth apologized with a grin. "She's a beauty," he continued and Loghain chuckled at his son's enthusiasm. He would make a fine farmer in his own right.

"No doubt. You can show me after dinner," Loghain said with a fond smile. The boy was outgrowing his clothes again, promising to be as tall as his father. Loghain felt a swell of pride deep within him. His son. His and Leonie's first born.

"Gareth, I can trust that you washed your hands, yes?"

Loghain found his eyes drawn to his wife and his smile was tender. She was breathtaking, even after two very difficult pregnancies and ten years. A shimmer of silver graced her temples and fine lines, brought on by laughter and worry and life, spider webbed around her glorious blue eyes. She smiled at him, her eyes bright with a forbidden promise and he felt the surge of desire quicken in his blood.

"Father, can I go with you?" Beryl asked eagerly. He turned to her, reaching out to tap her cheek with a teasing grin. His daughter was so much like his wife it was almost uncanny and she was the apple of his eye. She would break hearts one day. And capture one, just as Leonie had captured his.

"If you promise to wash the dishes afterward, I believe it is possible," he agreed with a nod.

So much love, so much happiness. Contentment, a rare commodity, resided in him. It seemed impossible after all the things he had done in his life that he would find this haven and this wonderful woman, the son he had always wanted, another daughter. He had his heart's desire. A free Ferelden, a woman who's grace and beauty left him breathless every time he was near her, two children who gave him strength and purpose. Yes, altogether impossible.

"My dear, I believe I may be with child again," Leonie whispered happily. He had not heard her approach him and he found his arms reaching around her slender waist. Impossible. His smile faded as she ran her fingers through his hair. It was impossible. Something in his mind, in his blood, knew it was impossible.

He frowned, a tickling unease plaguing his stomach. "What did you say?" he asked quietly, looking up at her.

He watched as his wife's face softened into another smile. "We are not going to have an argument about my having another child are we?" she asked, leaning back, her chin tilted. He was surprised to see her expression. A fight with Leonie meant stubborn jaws and raised voices. He rubbed a hand across his forehead, feeling disoriented for a moment.

"Children, you may be excused," he said quietly, watching as his son and daughter left before he turned his eyes to his wife, his mouth tightening.

"Have we not had this discussion enough?" she asked softly, a cajoling lilt in her tone. "Honestly, Loghain, do you not think that I can provide you with children? Is it not what women are to do? Are they not broodmares for their husbands? Most men would be delighted to hear such news, yes?"

Doubt and unease coalesced in him and he pushed away from her. It was impossible. All of it was impossible. The answers slammed into him, leaving him tense, nerves strained to a finely honed edge. "Leonie, you can't have children. You're a Grey Warden. And I assure you, I do not want a broodmare!" he snapped, his anger growing. Good. Anger was clearing away the doubts and confusion. He had to hang on to that anger.

"Do not be foolish, Loghain. You have seen your children with your own eyes. Do you doubt those eyes?"

Loghain pushed away from the table, from the cozy room, the cozy house, the cozy life that was impossible for him. Impossible for her. He knew it. She must know it as well.

"Yes, I find I do doubt my eyes," he began and she whirled away from him.

"Always you doubt! Is it because I am Orlesian?" she asked finally and he was appalled and unsettled to see her tears form and begin to fall. He faltered, momentarily unsure of himself, of his belief that this was wrong.

Was it that simple? Was he merely overwrought because she was an Orlesian? Is that where his unease came from? The sudden feeling that something about the entire scene before him wasn't right? She was the enemy, his enemy. Yet here she was providing heirs and giving him a life he had never expected but always wanted. Wanted. But couldn't have.

He shook his head and turned to face her. She was watching him intently, expectantly. A broodmare? Is that what she thought he wanted? All he had ever wanted was to be at peace in his soul, to find someone who understood about duty and sacrifice. Like Anora, who had done her duty, who had sacrificed her happiness to become Queen of Ferelden. Like Leonie, who had sacrificed more than he even knew in order to become a Grey Warden.

"I have a daughter, madam. I do not need you to be my broodmother," he finally said, his voice caustic. Broodmother. Something sinister and ominous in that word, that slip of the tongue. But it was a word that was oddly familiar to him. A promise he had made, a promise that he didn't want to uphold but one he was duty bound to follow. But what promise and to whom had he made the promise? He rubbed his forehead, frustrated. Something just beyond his sight was tugging at his vision.

"_Broodmare_, Loghain," she corrected but the other word had left a strange fear in him, a foreboding that grew as he looked at the woman before him, his wife and yet not his wife. He took a step away from her but she drew near, bringing her hands up to frame his face. Soft hands, pale and smooth. Not a warrior's hands at all.

It was the kiss that finally made him believe that whatever this life was, it was not his own, just a pathetic dream of 'what ifs.' There was no fire in the kiss, no passion, just a pressing of cool lips against his. If he was certain of nothing else, he was certain that this thing before him was not Leonie. Leonie's kisses were heated demands and decadent promises. There was never anything cool about her lips on his. And that realization, that knowledge, meant that none of the dream was real. He felt a deep, stinging sorrow lance through him; a despondency that struck him like a forceful blow. He wanted it to be real. He wanted to have a life with her but they were both Grey Wardens and this life was not theirs. And this woman, too accommodating to be his fiery, fiercely independent Commander, only brought that reality crashing in on him, stoking his anger.

"I don't know what you are, creature, but you aren't Leonie Caron," he snarled. The scene before him wavered, shimmered, faded. In front of him stood a woman who looked like Leonie except for the glowing red of her eyes and the mocking, vicious smile on her lips.

He carefully pulled out his sword. He ached at what he had to do, his misery so acute he felt the odd and unfamiliar sting of tears in his eyes. He ignored them, mouth pulling into a thin, grim line as he stepped forward. Beneath the sorrow lurked his anger, his fury at being tricked, his disgust at allowing himself to be lulled into the dream and it was that fury and disgust that propelled him forward, driving the sharp point of his blade deep into the woman turned demon before him.

She withered, curled, blew away in a puff of wind, just as the dream had. He sheathed his sword, picked up his bow and quiver, slid them onto his back, and walked away from the dream without a backward glance. He knew then that he was in the Fade and if he was, so too were Nathaniel and Leonie. He did not want to visit Leonie's dream.

He wandered the drifting fields of the Fade, searching for Nathaniel and Leonie by the pull of the taint within them. It seemed an impossible task and it was only his obstinacy that kept him going. And the images of a perfect little life with a woman he loved and two young children stayed with him far longer than he wanted them to.

He discovered Nathaniel in Denerim.

A beautiful young brunette was possessively attached to Nathaniel Howe's arm. He recognized her as Lady Elissa Cousland, youngest daughter of Bryce and Eleanor Cousland. She and her parents had died the night Rendon Howe had attacked their castle. She looked amazingly healthy for a dead woman. Loghain's stomach churned.

Nathaniel was dressed in nobleman's clothing, a dark brown tunic, trimmed in gold braid, and matching trousers, his leather boots polished to a high sheen. It seemed strange to see the young man without his bow and leathers, stranger still to see the bright smile on his face.

"Nathaniel," Loghain began, unsure of how to start, how to explain that whatever he thought was real was not, that it was all just a carefully orchestrated charade, created by his own mind's desires.

"Well met, Teryn Loghain. Elissa, you know the Teryn of Gwaren, do you not?" Nathaniel began pleasantly.

"It is an honor to see you, your grace," she said, dropping into a curtsy. "Have you come to pay your respects this anniversary as well?" she asked with a courteous smile.

Loghain stared at Nathaniel and then discovered, to his dismay, where in Denerim they were. The Memorial Gardens, the large public garden of sweeping lawns with cut stone slabs commemorating the exploits of departed heroes lining the pathways. Calenhad's stone was here, as were those of the Ferelden heroes that followed. He turned his eyes away, not wanting to see Rowan's or Maric's stones. It was a place he avoided in the real world. It was a place he didn't want to be now. His jaw clenched tightly.

"And who might you be paying respects to?" Loghain finally asked.

Nathaniel stared at him, clearly stunned by the question. "My Father, of course," the young man finally said and, following his gaze, Loghain saw the tall stone set into the green grass. A slab of rock from Ostagar, if he was not mistaken, white and smooth. Upon the stone had been engraved: _Arl_ _Rendon Howe, Savior and Hero, whose uncommon bravery helped save this land from the Blight. 9:30 Dragon Age._

If Loghain's dream had been a punch in the gut, this was a slap in the face to all those who had given their lives to save Ferelden during the Blight but he appreciated why Nathaniel had created this world. He saw the enormous pride in Nathaniel as the young man stared at the memorial stone.

"And how are your parents, Lady Elissa?"

"Very well, thank you, your grace. Mama is watching young Rennie for us. He is so much like his grandfather," Elissa cooed. He nodded, hoping his face was not registering how disturbing he found Nathaniel's dream, how painful the memories of reality clashed with the illusion surrounding him at the moment, forcing him to relive a part of his past he never wanted to visit again.

"I would very much like to hear your accounting of events, Nathaniel," Loghain began but Nathaniel gave a small, self deprecating laugh, shaking his head.

"You will wish to read the historian's version, your grace. Or perhaps listen to the bard's singing of his exploits. I am no poet."

"Nate, you know your father's history best," Elissa chided, tapping him on the arm in a coquettish manner that Loghain had always despised and couldn't imagine Nathaniel appreciated. Nathaniel sighed and spoke abruptly, his voice flat.

"I do not wish to offend Teryn Loghain with bad memories, wife."

Loghain was fighting a losing battle with his patience. They needed to end this fiction and find Leonie. He stared at Nathaniel through narrowed eyes.

"Your offense will be far greater if you do not comply with my request," Loghain finally growled. Nathaniel stared at him in surprise but with another encouraging tap on his arm by his wife he finally consented to tell the deed. Loghain found he was grinding his teeth painfully hard.

"When all seemed hopeless in Ostagar, my Father rode in with his troops, reinforcing the line. Your own units and Maric's Shield were nearly obliterated but my Father, at great risk to himself, came in and defended King Cailan as you lay wounded on the field. When the Archdemon arrived, there were only two Grey Wardens left alive and my Father cleared the way to the Archdemon, thus allowing Duncan of the Grey Wardens to slay the Archdemon. Had it not been for his heroism, the Blight would have spread throughout all of Ferelden."

Loghain had an almost overwhelming urge to laugh by the end of the tale and yet he felt pity for the young man. Obviously the great pride Nathaniel felt in Howe's accomplishments had given him a peace he had not known in reality. Loghain tried to relax his jaw and then began to speak, knowing he had to break the illusion and they must attend to reality, to move on.

"And Ser Tamra? How is she?" Loghain asked carefully, his voice cool and pleasant. Elissa Cousland's annoyance was immediate and real.

"We do not speak her name," she interjected coldly before Nathaniel could speak.

"I – I haven't seen Tamra in years," Nathaniel began, frowning. He trailed off, looking confused.

"Surprising. I saw her just days ago and she asked after you," Loghain lied, bringing his blade hand up to rest on the pommel of his sword.

"Oh? How is she?" Nathaniel asked eagerly. Elissa hissed and drew Nathaniel closer.

"She is well. She misses you," Loghain replied and disliked himself for what he had to do, hated that he was about to take some measure of Nathaniel's newfound security away from him.

"In fact, she needs you to help her decide if she is going to take the Joining," he continued relentlessly.

Nathaniel's bewilderment grew. "The Joining?"

"Yes, to become a Grey Warden."

Elissa made a small throaty sound of disapproval and Nathaniel was staring at him, shaking his head, his confusion growing.

"Why would she want to be a Grey Warden?" Nathaniel asked finally.

Loghain leaned forward, meeting the young man's stare directly, unflinchingly.

"Because you are a Grey Warden, Nathaniel. As am I."

"What?" Elissa screeched and stepped in front of Nathaniel, her eyes glowing red.

"And you won't be able to leave this illusion until you kill this creature pretending to be Elissa Cousland. I assure you that the true Elissa Cousland died by your own father's hand," Loghain finished in a cold, cruel voice.

"If you doubt what I say reach out with your taint, Nathaniel. You'll sense that I am tainted as well. That will be your answer."

Nathaniel rubbed a weary hand across his brow. "I don't want Tamra to become a Warden," he murmured and continued more strongly, "I talked to Lion about it."

"Yes, and you need to kill this monster and we need to find the Commander. Now!" Loghain ordered harshly as he brought his sword up. Nathaniel's small dagger was there first. The demon was gone, a wisp of smoke dissipating into the shifting air.

Nathaniel, shaken and white, stared at Loghain. "It was all a dream?"

Loghain clasped the young man's shoulder. "I regret for your sake that it was," he replied, trying to instill support and sympathy in his voice even as impatience bit at it.

"I should have known it wasn't real," Nathaniel continued and the loathing, the revulsion was clear, his voice sober.

"They gave you what you wanted, Nathaniel, just as they gave me what I wanted. But we need to concentrate, focus on finding Commander Leonie," Loghain replied, not unsympathetic to the young man's pain. He was still feeling raw and wounded as well.

He remembered Maric's story of the Fade, of Katriel, of demons and dreams. He wished that Maric would appear now as Katriel had for him, help him find Leonie and get out of this Maker forsaken place. He hoped that he could reach Leonie. His hands curled into fists as he quickened his pace.

The air cooled, their breath coming in great white puffs. Nathaniel was shivering. Before them was a large snowy field. Leonie was standing with her arms wide, wearing a thick cloak lined with fur, her cheeks red and raw from the cold wind that howled at them. She spun around several times, face upturned, dark wavy hair falling to her waist. Snowflakes began to fall, floating to the ground without hurry, melting as they landed. She was laughing, her face lit with an incandescent joy that left Loghain wanting to be the recipient of such joy. He was suddenly unwilling to disturb her. He put a hand out to stop Nathaniel.

She was gathering snow and throwing it at a man. Loghain saw that it was not Duncan, as he had thought it would be, but the Orlesian warden, Riordan. Riordan began chasing her and Leonie shrieked, running from him but he tackled her and they fell into the snow, their laughter caught in the wind and echoing around Loghain. She jumped up and once again flashed that radiant, joyful smile.

"I've never seen her look so happy," he heard himself say, heard the sadness in his voice, the envy. He growled, angry at himself for his foolishness. None of this was real. But it all felt real, the emotion in her seemed real.

"Haven't you?" Nathaniel chided, "I see that expression every time she looks at you," he added, staring at Loghain.

Loghain gave Nathaniel a sharp, penetrating stare, searching to see if the younger man was appeasing a pathetic old man's fancy but he looked serious, appeared genuine in his appraisal. It seemed unlikely that her joy could be directed at him for all that Nathaniel seemed to think otherwise.

She turned and saw them then and her face stilled, the joy melting away like the falling snowflakes. "You cannot help me," she warned, her voice calm. She dropped the snowball and Riordan faded away, taking the cold and snow with him. She moved to them hesitantly, a sleepwalker lost in a dream.

"Lion, come on! We need to get out of here," Nathaniel urged, reaching for her but she stepped out of reach.

"Come along, Commander. We can't waste any more time here," Loghain commanded, his voice harsher than he had intended.

"I cannot go," she said simply and then reached up to touch Loghain's cheek with her fingers. "You must hurry before he comes back," she warned and moved her fingers gently along the slope of his nose, down to his jaw before gently drifting through his hair.

"I love you, my dear Loghain," she whispered her voice so tender and soft he thought he had misheard her but he saw the love she spoke of reflected in her eyes. It came to him as he watched her that she was saying good-bye.

"Then hurry, Leonie," he urged, his voice gentler but no less insistent.

"I cannot. I made a promise, Loghain. I cannot go back with you."

Loghain reached out for her but she shook her head, her eyes sad and weary. "He will make sure you live free of the taint if I go with him," she explained and turned then, walking away.

Loghain stared after her, a rare moment in his life when he had no idea what to do. Nathaniel was running after her. "Loghain!" he called and Loghain found himself moving.

"Leonie! Stop!" Nathaniel called and she shrugged her shoulders without turning around, as if shrugging away the sound. Loghain was running after her but she always seemed to be just slightly ahead of him, out of his grasp.

"Leonie! Don't do this!" Loghain called, his voice desperate and breathless in his ears. Her steps faltered. He pressed his advantage while he had it.

"You don't have to promise anyone anything for me," he continued and moved slowly toward her.

"I do, Loghain. I am responsible for so many deaths." She was crying softly, but she wasn't moving away.

The irony of her statement was not lost on him. Loghain took another step forward. She stood unmoving, tears running unchecked. He took another step. "Tell me who is making these promises, Commander."

Sighing, Leonie wiped at the tears and then looked down. "You know who follows me, Loghain, who watches everything, who shares my blood," she whispered. "Who wants me."

Panic trickled past the shock, moving him toward the anger he needed. He stood still, listening, but his body was poised, ready to move if she stepped away.

"They used my blood for experiments at Weisshaupt. Ten men died from those experiments. Eleven. Tremain, I nearly forgot Tremain," she whispered and her sadness and tears swept through him. He took another step, close enough to touch her but he held back.

"You couldn't have known," Loghain said quietly.

"He says no one else will have to die," she said solemnly. "Kristoff died. I sent him here and he died. Narsden died. Keenan. Marcus. They all died," she sighed. "I do not wish that for you."

Loghain reached out, brushed her hair back from her forehead, caught a tear on his fingertip. She didn't move.

"He's lying, whoever he is," Loghain said firmly. "People die, Leonie. It's part of life. And it's part of being a commander. But it isn't your fault."

She was smiling but it was a heart wrenching smile, it pierced through his defenses. And he had no idea how to reach her, his frustration and self loathing leaping to life as he watched her tears continue to drip off her chin.

"He will be back any minute, Loghain. You must leave. Let me do this one thing for you," she implored, her hands coming up to rest on his arms.

"No. No I won't. This is the Fade, Commander. Now pull yourself together," he snarled, as gritty and grim as he ever had been. He could only hope that if he provoked her she would snap back, awaken from the dream.

Her eyes narrowed and her chin tilted up ever so slightly. "Do not speak in such a way to me," she began, her voice warming, the tears floundering to a stop as the sadness left her eyes.

"Then quit acting like a child. We have a mission, Commander," he replied coldly. He saw as she clenched her hands.

"How dare you! You insufferable, arrogant man," she hissed angrily and then blinked. She stared at him in confusion.

"Loghain, if I go with you, you will die. Others will. I do not want that," she protested but with less determination.

"The Architect can't change that, no matter what he promised, Commander. He doesn't have that kind of power. Now let's leaved this place," he demanded.

She turned to look behind her. Her shoulders bowed and he wanted to reach out to her, to offer her strength but he stood, hands limp at his side. "I knew it was a dream but for a moment it was real," she whispered.

Surprisingly, it was Nathaniel who came and offered comfort. He slipped an arm around her shoulders and stood with her, a solid presence offering his strength. Loghain was afraid to touch her, afraid his own strength and resolve would waver if he had her in his arms. His dream and her confession of love while in her own dream were so close to the surface still he wasn't sure he would have the ability to leave.

They all turned away, preparing to move on, to find a way out.

"Leonie, you can't leave. You made a promise."

The voice sent chills down Loghain's spine. He spun around, sword drawn. Leonie turned too, sword in hand. "You lied to me, you cannot save anyone," she accused, moving toward the monstrous creation known as the Architect.

"You will fulfill your promise, Leonie. If not now, soon," the creature continued and his voice was a lingering sigh.

"No. No, I will not," Leonie replied calmly and pushed forward, her sword held out, ready to strike.

And then the creature that continued to torment Leonie was gone. There was nothing but the flat brown landscape of the Fade left in his place.

"Now, we must find a way to escape this place, yes? I will ask you to lead, Loghain. You know my penchant for becoming lost." Leonie said with a hint of a smile. She glanced at Nathaniel and then at Loghain.

"Thank you," she added softly.

Loghain thought, in that moment, that while they couldn't live his dream, they might just have a future of sorts and that would have to suffice.


	32. Chapter 32

**Kristoff's Justice**

Hunger was gnawing at Leonie's stomach with increasing fervor. She called a halt to their wanderings and sank onto the hard brown soil, pulling her pack open. Nathaniel stood away from them, staring around at the stony, twisted landscape that made no sense to any of the group. She carefully doled out hard biscuits and dried apples.

"You look exhausted," Loghain remarked as he chewed his biscuit.

"There you are, overwhelming me with sweet compliments again," Leonie replied, raising an eyebrow at him. He smirked and her smile was bright in return.

Loghain's face softened, the lines that ran perpendicular to his mouth disappearing, his black brows smoothing into soft wings above his light blue eyes. A smile played gently with his sensuous lips. He was a handsome man, not classically so, but as ruggedly handsome as the land he came from, Leonie thought, admiring the graceful cut of his jaw, the hawkish curve of his nose, the strength and determination of his chin. She reached out a finger, tracing the arc of his brow and then pulled back. She knew he did not appreciate public displays and she would honor that. For now.

"I am surprised by your dream. I expected your husband to be with you, not Riordan," he finally said, his voice serious, hinting at a deep curiosity and something else, an unease. He was afraid, she sensed, but didn't know if he was afraid she would be angered by the question of if he was afraid she would answer it. Leonie frowned, setting aside her food. She looked down at her now folded hands.

"I was able to say good-bye to Duncan," Leonie began, her voice as soft as a dream. "I knew when he left Jader the last time that I would probably not see him again, or if I did, it would be to see him off on his Calling. I want to remember him as he was that last time. Our parting was as it should have been." Her eyes damp, she turned to look at Loghain again

"But I was so angry with Riordan. I wanted to come into Ferelden, to find the answers that we sought. He was adamant that he be the one to go and it was his right. Didier ordered him to do so. We did not part as I would have wished. I had to see him again, to remember him as he was, not with anger between us. He was, in so many ways, my dearest friend. He was the one who taught me to ride, who gifted me with Vixen," Leonie said and her chin trembled as she thought of Vixen. "Always with the first snowfall in Jader, he and I would have such fun, like children. It is how I wished to remember him." Her voice broke and she looked away.

Loghain reached out a hand, cupping her chin, raising it. "You don't have to explain further. I understand," he said, eyes unreadable and she nodded.

"And you are not going to share your dream with me?" she asked quietly. Loghain looked uncomfortable and almost sorrowful. Silence stretched between them and she let the question hang in the desultory wind that seemed to be a perpetual guest of the Fade.

Finally, Leonie stood up, offering her hand to Loghain, "We should try and find a way out, yes?"

Loghain looked more than a little relieved, which only served to further pique Leonie's curiosity about his Fade experience. But she remained silent. Nobody was ever going to make the man talk if he didn't wish to.

She couldn't help but wonder, as they trudged along, what Nathaniel's dream was. But if Loghain was too private to share his, she couldn't imagine she would fare any better asking Nathaniel the same thing. Something that seemed singularly unfair to her as they had both witnessed hers.

"Is that a town?" Nathaniel asked, stopping suddenly, his voice hopeful. He was pointing to a blot in the distance. Leonie squinted, trying to see some shape that would define it as a town but she was unable to. Loghain was already moving in that direction, his stride lengthening. Apparently more than a blot, she thought wryly, hurrying to catch up to the two men.

The town looked small but the manor house was large and seemed oddly familiar. "Is this not the manor house of the Baroness?" Leonie asked, coming to a stop some distance from the gates that enclosed the entire town. The manor house was a sprawling timber and stone building with towering turrets and chimneys, imposing and grand. It stood in the center of the town surrounded by stone cottages, laid out in neat rows, a respectful distance from the manor.

Nathaniel paled. "These cottages are laid out in the same pattern as the tumble-downs," he added and his voice was steady, but only just.

"Is this why there was a tear in the Veil? Because the Baroness brought the entire town and its inhabitants into the Fade? How is that possible?" she asked in a hushed voice. She wasn't sure if she was more awed or more frightened by such a feat. She was leaning toward the latter. Someone, or some_thing,_ powerful enough to accomplish such a task would make short work of the three of them. She thought of Anders sitting at the camp attending Sigrun and she groaned.

"I should have waited for Anders, yes?" she muttered in answer to Loghain's quirked brow.

"I don't think one more person, mage or otherwise, will make much difference," he remarked dryly.

As they approached the gates to the town, a guard, in impressive armor, dated and slightly moldy smelling, stopped them with a suspicious glare.

"What are you doing here?"

"We are here to see the Baroness and discover what is happening here," Leonie responded calmly. She gave the man her best smile.

"You're Orlesian!" he exclaimed in disgust and folded his armsa cross his chest. "I'll not let an Orlesian through."

"But the war between Orlais and Ferelden has been over for thirty years," she protested.

"Be gone! We've enough to worry about with the bloody Orlesian baroness!" he shouted and raised his weapon. Leonie took a step back, shooting Loghain a glare.

"Perhaps you can make him see reason," she ground out as he stepped forward and began a low conversation with the guard. She caught words like "bard" "bed" "wench" and was just about to hit Loghain with the flat of her blade when the guard eyed her with disdain.

"Alright, Master Loghain and Master Nathaniel, you and your Orlesian _doxy_ will be permitted in," the guard said and Leonie, blushing and furious, sailed in ahead of the men, head held high, hands fisted.

"If either of you speak of this to anyone, it will be your head," she hissed. She heard Nathaniel snicker and sent him a withering glare.

As they made their way through the small town, little more than a village, they heard snippets of stories, people talking anxiously amongst each other or sometimes whispering quietly to themselves. Apparently the Baroness was not just a mage, but a blood mage, a particularly nasty one who had taken children to feed her vanity and power both.

"I think we cannot just walk up to her and ask to be returned. We must find a different approach, yes?"

Loghain's brow shot up. "What approach might that be, exactly?"

"Do not ask me, Master Loghain, I am merely your _Orlesian_ _doxy_," she replied sarcastically and continued on, moving in the direction of raised voices.

Many of the townspeople were grouped around a glowing specter. It appeared to be a warrior, dressed in ethereal plate, his speech old fashioned and intended to incite. It was working, Leonie saw, and the citizens were railing against the Baroness. But what was the phantom? She edged closer and the apparition turned his gaze on her.

"More minions of the Baroness?" he asked and his voice was surprisingly strong for one so insubstantial. Leonie pulled herself to her full height.

"Most assuredly not. We require help to return to our mortal realm," she replied but a gasp went through the crowd at her accent. They began to press forward, obviously hostile, but Leonie held her ground.

"Because I have an Orlesian accent does not mean I speak for Orlais. I am a Grey Warden, brought here against my will be the trickery of a darkspawn that I now seek for killing a brother Warden," she continued, showing none of the fear or apprehension she felt by sheer force of will alone.

"If that is truly your goal, it is a noble and just one. Fight with us. For too long has the Baroness controlled these poor townsfolk. If you truly seek justice, show your honor and help free these people," the ghostly figure invited. Leonie was not entirely sure she could refuse, considering the press of the crowd.

"Might I know whose side I fight by?" she asked in the same calm voice. She didn't feel especially calm, but she wasn't about to let the others around her know that, including her own men, who were surprising quiet.

"I am the Spirit of Justice, warrior. And you are?"

A spirit? Of the Fade? Did that not make him a demon? Dare she ask such a question?

As if sensing her thoughts, the spirit spoke again, his voice less terse. "Not all spirits of the Fade are demons. There are many who are benevolent. I am such a one."

"I am Commander Leonie Caron of the Grey Wardens," she said formally with a slight inclination of her head. "And these are my men, Warden Loghain and Warden Nathaniel."

She did not look at either of her men, stepping closer to the Spirit of Justice. "We discovered tears in the Veil in the Blackmarsh. We must repair them, yes?"

"I assure you, Commander Leonie Caron of the Grey Wardens, removing the Baroness will close those tears," the spirit said.

He, or at least Leonie assumed it was a he, moved forward, crying out, "Your reign of terror over these defenseless people ends now, Baroness!" and with a mighty kick the gates holding the crowd back flew open.

A woman, dark haired and sultry, stepped onto a low balcony, the darkspawn calling himself The First at her side. He whispered urgently to the woman, pointing at Leonie. The Baroness gave him a haughty look and moved forward, placing her hands on the balustrade.

"Hear me, and hear me well. If you turn around and leave now you will survive!" she said and her Orlesian accent was thick and cruel, arrogant. Leonie stepped forward.

"That is not possible, Baroness. Send the darkspawn who stands at your side to me and we may yet find a reason to spare you."

Laugher, proud and overconfident. "You are Orlesian? How wonderfully ironic. You too shall bow before me," she replied with a disdainful smile for Leonie.

Yes, ironic, thought Leonie grimly. Loghain moved to Leonie's side. "Your plan?" he asked quietly, his own voice reflecting irony.

"To win, of course," Leonie responded with a smile.

The fight began without warning. One minute they were talking and the next, the Spirit of Justice was battling the Baroness and The First was standing in front of her, the green orb in his hand. He had opened a portal and genlocks were streaming into the courtyard.

"Loghain, destroy the portal!" Leonie cried, bringing her sword up and slicing at the darkspawn in front of her, sending the orb flying in a graceful arc to shatter on the stones.

The First was not an easy fight, not the mindless frenzied darkspawn she was used to fighting. She was only dimly aware of the fighting around her as she concentrated all her rage, all her grief on the vile creature before her. Her sword flashed in a sweeping arc that sent black blood splattering to the stones of the courtyard as The First lost an arm.

"That is for Kristoff!" she roared and brought her sword up, pressing her advantage as the darkspawn howled in pain. She slashed across his chest in fury, and then dodged his incoming assault, batting away his sword with her own. She felt the sting of his dagger pierce through her arm and ignored the pain, wrath fueled by the memory of Kristoff's ruined, decaying face. His sword clattered to the ground and she launched herself at him, knocking him down, riding with him, her dagger at his throat.

The sharp, arrogant tones of the Baroness broke through Leonie's murderous rage. "You wish to go back through the Veil? So you shall!"

Leonie felt herself flung into an impenetrable darkness. She was falling, twisting and bright points of light were stabbing at her. She landed with a loud thud on the ground and rolled. A tree stump stopped her momentum, tearing a cry of pain from her. Her eyes flew open and she sat up, holding her injured arm. Blood was seeping, weeping red tracks that dripped onto the ground. It was not serious, but it was distracting.

Looking around her, she noticed Loghain and Nathaniel both stirring, some distance from her, but The First was nowhere in sight. She felt sure he had not survived, could feel no prickling in her blood. She pulled herself up to her knees and was about to stand, when a bright, blinding flash of white surrounded the small flat space around them. She turned away, eyes momentarily sightless, save for the spots that danced in her vision.

Loghain was moving forward, bending over Nathaniel, who was shaking his head. Both looked a bit rough but not seriously injured and Leonie let out a deep breath she hadn't known she was holding.

Just when she had her breathing under control, she noticed movement out of the corner of her eye and she turned her head toward Kristoff's body. It was moving. With a startled yelp, she fell back, skittering backward away from the body, which was now beginning to sit up. Her scream was a clumsy sounding squawk of fear.

"Kristoff?" she whispered, horrified. She stood on shaking legs, legs made increasingly unsteady by the movement of her dead friend as he moved hands to his face. His eyes, once lifeless and staring into the Beyond, were now wide and disbelieving.

"That demon has torn the Veil and delivered me here," the voice was not Kristoff's. It was the voice of the Spirit of Justice. Leonie's revulsion roiled in her stomach. Bile rose, burning her throat.

"Get out of him!" she screamed, scrambling toward him and stopped as her stomach rose in protest. She fell to her knees, retching. She felt a cool hand on her nape, Loghain's touch, thankfully. He put a waterskin into her shaking hands and she drank, rinsing her mouth.

"I can't leave this body until the demon is dead." Kristoff's mouth was moving awkwardly as the spirit spoke through it. Leonie allowed Loghain to help her stand.

"Then let us kill this demon so you may depart," she agreed tightly, repulsed by the jerky movements of her former Second as he tested his arms, their lifeless flesh barely covering the bones beneath.

Leonie wished Kristoff had worn a helm. She wished Loghain did. Something, anything to cover the revolting mass of destroyed flesh that was speaking, whose eyes now had a light behind them that was not Kristoff's own life force.

"Come, I know how this must be done. There will be more tears in the Veil and we must close them or the demon will be too strong for us to defeat."

"Stop speaking," she ordered angrily. "Just do not," she added with only slightly less heat in her voice.

Nathaniel was staring at Kristoff-Justice with an almost childlike fascination. Loghain appeared completely matter-of-fact about it. Of course neither had known Kristoff as she had but she found their behavior annoying.

"He is not a freak in the traveling shows," she muttered to Nathaniel who had the grace to look away.

"No, you're right, Lion, but it isn't anything I ever expected to witness," Nathaniel said and his eyes slid once more to Kristoff-Justice who was flexing his arms, testing the weight of Kristoff's sword and shield. Her need to rip those items from his hands almost overtook her common sense.

The apparition turned to Leonie and she heard a note of pity in his voice as he spoke. "This body, this person. His memories are now mine. He knew you. He admired you. You were his commander, I believe."

"I was. And you will call him Kristoff when you speak of him, spirit," she commanded coldly.

"Yes, I am sorry for your discomfort," he said and his apology seemed heartfelt. If, Leonie thought somewhat hysterically, spirits have hearts. For surely Kristoff's heart no longer beat in his chest.

They fought side by side as they closed the tears in the Veil. For all that he was moving in an unfamiliar shell, and for all that Kristoff's body was largely destroyed by the decay of death, the spirit fought with speed and skill. They finally reached the Baroness' estate and Leonie saw the woman, the demon posing as a woman, waiting for them, wearing an arrogant, triumphant smile.

"So this is the mortal world. How deliciously vibrant it is, how wonderfully full of living creatures."

"You will not have time to discover it, demon," the spirit promised in such a strong and commanding voice that even Leonie believed him.

"Oh, I think you very much mistake the matter, spirit," the demon responded with amusement.

The spirit turned to Leonie, who could not meet his eyes, could not even look at him. "The demon will summon Fade portals, they must be destroyed immediately or minions, lesser demons will issue forth. I will fight the demon."

"As will I, spirit," Leonie said. "Tell me what I must know about this demon."

"It is a pride demon, the most powerful of the demons. Your weapons will not be effective against it without this," he explained, casting a spell that gave their weapons an eerie green glow.

"And now, we fight!" he yelled and Leonie followed him only to stop in horror as the Baroness transformed into a hideously twisted giant of a monstrosity, horned and ferocious, snarling with sardonic humor at the puny humans foolish enough to attack it. She tossed her shield aside and pulled her dagger out. A shield would do little good against such a huge entity.

Once Leonie regained the use of her voice, she shouted orders. "Loghain, fight from range! When the demon summons the portal, attack those! Nathaniel, stay on the portals and when you are on the demon, use your special arrows, the ones that stun!"

She reached into her pack and brought out a handful of healing potions, dispensing them quickly before plunging into the battle.

It was like trying to fell a tree with a butter knife. She chipped away with all her strength, dodging and ducking the massive swings from mammoth arms. The shouts and noises of battle filled the dank air of the marsh. She could not discern what was being shouted or what was going on behind her, where Loghain and Nathaniel were launching arrow after arrow at the beast until a portal opened.

At one point she was caught in some kind of field, held powerless, a crushing weight pressed against her. Just as she felt the last of her air squeezed from her lungs, the weight lifted and she was moving forward again, only to have her armor snagged on the horned skin of the demon. She felt herself lifted off the ground, hanging by the buckles of her breastplate that had caught on the horned skin. She was swinging out as the demon brought his arm down. She pushed her sword into its skin and held on as she used her dagger to slice through the leather of her buckles.

She had nowhere to go but up as the great arm swung back for another blow. She buried her dagger deep into the twisted flesh of his side, pulling her sword out of his arm as she swung across his massive frame, dangling like a straw doll. Sweat was rolling down her face, blinding her but she was already scrambling for purchase on the twisted expanse of his chest, moving up. She heard someone calling her name, screaming against the bellwoing of the demon, lost in the growing gloom of the mist but all she could do wass continue her upward climb.

Hand over hand, thrusting first her sword and then her dagger into the diseased, meaty flesh of the demon, she made her way to his neck, heard the ponderous roaring of the demon surround her, deafen her as she brought her sword up, burying it into the hard fleshy knot of its neck.

Her arms were quivering, shaking with exhaustion and the effort of hanging on to her hilts. She withdrew her dagger and plunged it into the neck as well, twisting it. The demon was staggering, thundering outrage and she finally allowed herself to look down. It seemed a very, very long way down. This beast was taller than an ogre and Leonie felt her fear driving her battle rage and adrenaline from her. Dizziness swept into her, the world wobbling and tilting at alarming angles and she realized the demon was beginning to stagger backward. She prayed to the Maker that the beast would continue to fall back. If he fell forward she would be crushed.

Hands, damp with sweat and stinging from the small cuts caused by her gauntlets digging into her skin, were losing their precarious hold on her hilts. She felt herself begin to slip, and a small scream escaped her as she tightened her panicked hold. The demon continued to stumble and then she felt it, the massive legs giving out and it was falling. She gripped the hilts and closed her eyes, her prayer to the Maker more fervent than before as she felt herself pitching, swaying.

The massive body hitting the ground shook the entire courtyard. Silence settled over the marsh.


	33. Chapter 33

**Spirits**

Groaning, Leonie staggered to her feet. Her weapons, still lodged in the massive body of the demon, gleamed in the flickering torchlight. She turned to find Nathaniel standing nearby, looking dazed and exhausted. He was pale and a fine sheen of sweat covered his face. He had cuts and scrapes and was favoring his right leg but he was alive and that was a relief to Leonie.

Loghain looked icy but unhurt. He was helping Nathaniel, wrapping a poultice around Nathaniel's knee. He did not look at her and she sighed as she struggled to remove her weapons from the demon. What did one do, she wondered, with a dead demon? Burn it? Bury it? Ignore it? In the end, as she yanked her sword out of the meaty flesh, she decided ignoring it made the most sense. Or was, at the very least, the easiest course of action.

There was not a muscle in her body that didn't ache. And a steady drip of blood from her arm reminded her she hadn't done anything about her earlier wound. She began to unbuckle her gauntlet and vambrace but Loghain's fingers pushed hers out of the way and she hissed at him.

"I am not some helpless _Orlesian doxy_," she muttered, moving his fingers away.

"I don't think this is the appropriate place or time for a discussion on just what exactly you are," he replied, his words coated in ice.

"I am too tired to do more than agree with you at the moment. Do not think that is a permanent state," Leonie responded finally, grateful that he wasn't going to berate her. There were more than a few words she wished to impart on him as well, but she was too tired to think of them.

She sat down on the ground, arms falling limply. He could just sit down and bandage her. Her legs did not want to support her and she was too tired to argue with them as well. She was not in the mood to argue with anyone at the moment. She wanted to leave the foul swamp, collect Anders and Sigrun, return to the Vigil and then sleep for a week.

"And Kristoff's body?" she finally forced herself to ask.

"I am here, Commander," the voice of Justice said. Leonie tensed, pulling her arm away from Loghain, who was trying to wrap the bandage around her wound. He took her arm firmly and finished tying the bandage before returning it to her lap.

"Thank you, Loghain," she finally said quietly. Maker, she just wanted to rest her head against his chest and sleep for a few hours. But he was stiff and brusque, cool and aloof. Hardly a soft place to rest her head. The demon's chest would be more restful and comfortable, she thought sourly, before her mind returned to the problem at hand.

"I thought you were to return to the Fade when we killed the demon?" Leonie finally asked the spirit, eyes carefully avoiding the direction his voice came from.

"I had that intention, Commander. The last portal closed before I could."

Horrified, Leonie asked, "And there is no other way for you to return?"

"I don't know of any, I fear."

Nathaniel was gawking again and Leonie cast a fierce frown in his direction, which he failed to see in the misty gloom.

"It is possible for a mage to open a portal perhaps?" she asked hopefully.

"More than one might be able to do that. I'm unsure," the spirit answered and there was an inflection in his voice that sounded very much like an apology.

"And if you simply leave that body?" she continued, searching for an easy solution to the dilemma where none seemed to exist.

"I believe I might cease to exist. It is possible I will continue to exist in a non-corporeal fashion, however I do not know for sure."

"A spirit without flesh? Would you be able to communicate with us?" Nathaniel asked, his voice relaying all the fascination his face had earlier. She wanted to thump him on the head. For a sensible, serious man he was behaving like a child at the street fair held in Val Royeaux each spring.

"I do not know," the spirit answered with that same apologetic note in his voice. An odd juxtaposition for Leonie, his voice emanating from Kristoff's body. Or what she remembered of Kristoff's body. A shiver chased along her spine.

There were things that Leonie, as a pragmatic person, had done for the sake of the Grey Wardens that she had not really wanted to do, but she had seen the merits of those things, those decisions. There were people that she had forgiven for making pragmatic decisions that had adversely affected her because she understood the need for such decisions. Where, she wondered on a rising note of panic, was the line? Where was it drawn so that she could clearly see it and not cross over it?

Her kidnapping and subsequent trip to Weisshaupt pushed into her troubled thoughts. Tremain's answer when she had asked what price victory…

_At any cost. By any means necessary. As it has always been, Leoni_e...

That price had been eleven Wardens dead, as well as a rebellion within the Weisshaupt Wardens, and had nearly cost Leonie her life. Had that been too high a price? Some would argue it had not been. She would argue otherwise. Once again she wondered when the cost became so high it could no longer be tolerated. When the price pushed past the bounds of humanity and became as monstrous as the very things they fought.

Could she ask Loghain and get a more definitive answer? His need to protect Ferelden from the alleged threat of Orlais and the Grey Wardens had cost the nation its young king, had taken Duncan's life. He claimed he withdrew his troops to keep from losing even more men. He claimed it was to have more troops to fight the Blight. Perhaps that was true, but how did one decide who should live and who should die? How did he live with his choices? She glanced at him, saw that he was watching her intently, a frown flickering in his eyes, tugging at his mouth. Her own pragmatism had allowed her to accept his choices, had allowed her heart to love him. Some would argue that she had already crossed the line.

"Commander?" Loghain finally said, sending her thoughts slithering into the dank mist that was once again creeping into the marsh to cloak them all in its foul air.

"Loghain?" she mimicked, raising a brow at him.

"We should return to the camp."

Yes, and from there to the Vigil. Aura was due any day, may already be there. Leonie stood up and began to pace, quick strides that took her out of sight of the others and when she felt she had gone far enough, she turned and paced back. Her hands where clenched at her side and she felt like a lion at the moment, a caged lion faced with a choice she neither wanted nor was ready for. Her feet slowed and she cocked her head, all thoughts fleeing at the sound she heard, rising ghostlike in the thick fog.

"Did anyone else hear that?" she asked, her voice carefully contained. She had heard a sound that very much resembled the dragon thralls they had fought in the silverite mines, only much deeper, much louder, which probably meant much larger. Andraste's grace, she was not ready for another fight.

"Yes," Loghain said, buckling his sword back on and slinging his bow.

"I suppose there is no hope for it then," Leonie said tiredly as Loghain helped her into her armor.

"I will help, if you will permit, Warden Commander. I know that you are uneasy with my presence," the spirit began and she gave an unhappy sigh. Uneasy was such a mild word for her feelings.

"I thank you for your offer, spirit, and accept," she finally replied.

Loghain's earlier anger seemed to have mellowed. His hands lingering on her shoulders and he was less aloof but he didn't say anything, which did nothing to mitigate her growing frustration with him and yet she wanted him to comfort her, to help her make the right choice. She would not permit herself to ask him for that help, would not allow someone else to live with the choice, but she wanted to.

Nathaniel came to stand with them. She gave him a reassuring look, although she felt far from confident. They were all tired, hungry, battered and bruised. Except for Kristoff, who was dead. She pushed down a bubble of sudden laughter. And hysterical, she added to her mental list. She winced as she pulled her sword arm up.

"Spirit, I ask that you take point," she began. "Or do I call you Justice?"

Some part of her didn't want to know, didn't want to acknowledge a name or develop any feelings or interest in him, afraid that it would make her choice that much more difficult.

"Justice will suffice," he said and his inflections were getting stronger, as if he was learning emotional context. That did nothing to alleviate her anxiety.

They found the beast on a large knoll overlooking the marsh. It was not like anything any of them had ever seen, a ghostly thing, a spectral, a spirit dragon. Loghain said it was not quite as large as the high dragon he had once seen just before a battle and definitely smaller than the Archdemon. Nathaniel told them about the legends of a large dragon known as the Queen of the Blackmarsh. Leonie just wanted it to die so they could go home.

The fight with the dragon was neither pretty nor quick. Everyone, except Justice, seemed to be moving through snowdrifts, slow and plodding. Leonie's arms were reluctant to follow her orders and her feet kept getting in her way. They were fortunate when the spectral dragon fell. They had Justice to thank for it and that did nothing to ease Leonie's mind or make her decision easier.

To her great relief, Nathaniel found a large chest as they gathered themselves together to leave the marsh. Inside was a set of armor and while it was too small for Loghain, the helmet fit Justice perfectly. Leonie insisted he wear it.

"So I am to go with you?" he asked.

Leonie could not bring herself to look at the desecrated corpse, barely managed to walk beside it, but knew she had to say something. "I think you should come back to our camp for now and we will talk more when we are rested, yes?"

"A just decision, Warden Commander," he agreed.

It seemed to take hours to get back to the camp. Leonie was nearly convinced that they had become lost in the thick fog that embraced them when she finally saw a campfire glowing with a welcoming light in the distance. Her spirits lifted.

Tears stung her eyes as she approached the camp. Sigrun was sitting by the fire, reciting dwarven poetry to Anders, who was snuggled with Ser Pounce, dozing. It was normal. It was warm. It was almost home. She went immediately to her tent to take off her armor and the sticky, sweaty, gritty padding underneath.

Outside she could hear Nathaniel's surprisingly animated voice relating their adventures. She wondered how they were explaining the spirit inhabiting Kristoff but then her mind balked and she pushed the thoughts away. She intended to slip into her tunic and leggings and then go out to the fire and talk with everyone, share in a bowl of stew and revel in the normalcy of it. After she pulled her tunic on, she sat down on her bedroll to pull on her leggings and promptly fell asleep.

Stepping out of her tent into a light, misting rain hours later, Leonie's spirits flagged. A march to the Vigil in rain. It seemed a fitting end to the miserable misadventures they had experienced in the Blackmarsh. Loghain was standing watch. As she moved toward him, he glanced up and frowned, opening his mouth to speak.

"Let me save you the bother, Loghain," she began. Lowering her chin and her voice, she pronounced, "You look terrible, Commander." She thought her imitation of his voice was quite well done. He snorted and turned back to the fire.

"Did I not manage to capture the essence of your voice?" she asked with a grin and his shoulders twitched.

"I was going to suggest you might like to wash up and then eat," he returned mildly, before continuing, "However your assessment is correct. You do look terrible."

She wasn't going to dispute the fact. Her hair was matted and crusty, her skin felt just as crusty and she smelled like a tavern full of unwashed sailors. Sighing, she took her soap and a large linen cloth and made her way to a pond that was little more than a drainage ditch. The water was, at the very least, less brackish and black than the water of the Blackmarsh.

When she felt less crusty and was able to run her fingers through her hair without them sticking to the strands, she made her way back to the fire, knowing she had put off her decision about Justice long enough. Yet she still had no idea what to do. He was an impressive fighter, a great warrior. He would make a fine addition to the Wardens. And surely there was some way to stop the decomposition, the smell? If he wore a helmet she might be able to bear it. But how would Aura react? She stopped and closed her eyes. How would she herself act were it Duncan's remains inhabited by a spirit? She shuddered, knowing she would be heartbroken and the heartbreak would continue for as long as Justice inhabited Duncan's body. It was, in many ways, a desecration to allow it.

As she neared the camp, she heard the "_klik, klik, klikety_" of a bald eagle, ghostly echoes in the thickening mist. There was a message there, she felt sure. Vandhar had once told her the Dalish considered the eagle able to travel between the land of the spirits and the mortal realm, a gift given by the Creators for the eagle's courage and hunting prowess.

She found Justice sitting quietly some distance from the camp. Her nose was immediately assailed by the smell of his decaying body.

"Good morning," she began softly, forcing herself to sit down beside him.

"The mortal world has so much beauty. How do you not stop and notice?"

"We have grown accustomed to the beauty. Some would say we have grown immune to it," she answered thoughtfully.

"You have made your decision." It was not a question, but a statement and his voice, so oddly imbued with apology and kindness made it more difficult for Leonie to speak as her throat thickened.

"There was a man I loved as deeply as Kristoff loved his wife. He too was a Grey Warden and he fell battling the darkspawn. He was lost to me. I could not perform the ceremony that would help me move on, accept his loss. My heart took a very long time to heal. I would not wish that for Kristoff's wife. It is a difficult thing, loving a Grey Warden. I cannot bring myself to allow her even more suffering."

"I understand, Warden Commander." There was resignation in his voice, sadness. But he was trying to lift her burden of guilt and his grace at doing so tore at her conscience, at her heart.

Tears pooled, stung her throat. "But you have fought by our side, saved us all. I am grateful for your help. This is a difficult decision, one I ask the Maker's guidance on."

It was then that the eagle swept down, graceful wings extended, gliding on the currents of an invisible wind. Wild and free and stunning, dark feathered body in sharp contrast to the pale grey mist. His call reverberated as he tipped his wings and soared up and away, lost in the low hanging clouds.

She heard the soft thud of a body hitting the ground. Justice was gone.

They packed up to begin the two day walk back to the Vigil a short time later. She went to Anders and asked him to encase Kristoff's body in ice. He gave her a questioning look but finally cast the spell.

"Why?" Loghain asked, stony and distant.

Leonie felt everyone's eyes on hers, waiting for her answer. "Because," she began and the tears were in her voice and heart, but not in her eyes, "Orlesian women perform a mourning ritual at their loved one's funeral pyre. I would wish that for Aura."

Nathaniel asked the question they all seemed to be asking with their eyes. "What is the ritual, Lion?"

Avoiding Loghain's eyes, she explained in a subdued voice, "We cut off our hair and place it on the pyre, to signify we are in mourning, and to give our husband one last gift."

"That's why your hair was so long in your Fade dream," Nathaniel said quietly and Leonie tensed, waiting for a biting remark from Loghain, who seemed to hide his hurt behind such things but he was silent. And even more distant. She would have to ask for his understanding, to let him know that she did not hold him to blame for what had happened. But not now, not in front of the others. She tried to catch his eye, to give him a reassuring smile but he was locked in his own world and he would not let her in.

"Ooh, so you actually saw Lion's Fade dream? And you aren't going to share it with us? That's just mean!" Anders exclaimed, all false hurt and pouts. She patted his arm in comfort.

"If it is any consolation, my dear Anders, I have no idea what the other dreams were," she soothed as they started off.

Loghain came to walk beside her and she felt tension ripple through her muscles and settle in her stomach.

"So you plan on sending someone back for his body?" he asked and his voice was a perfect reflection of a granite boulder.

"I will bring several men with me, yes?" she asked, striving to keep her voice light. Now was not the time for the fight that was brewing like a winter storm between them.

"Hardly a sensible decision," he began in the same flinty voice. He was striking out at her in his hurt. She could hardly fault him for that.

"I am not always sensible or pragmatic, Loghain. I was sure you would understand that of me by now," she replied mildly.

"I am well aware of that fact, Commander," he assured her, his voice clipped and cold.

"Then there is no reason to argue about this decision, yes?" Her voice was less mild, more frustrated and she took a deep breath as they walked along the rutted road.

A low growl was her answer and she flashed a half smile at him. "Exactly so," she agreed and Loghain said nothing more.

Anders and Sigrun questioned them relentlessly that night as they sat around the fire. What had the Fade been like? What was it like to fight a demon and a ghostly dragon? What had their Fade dreams been? What happened to Justice? None of the three involved discussed their dreams and Leonie, lost in her own thoughts, didn't answer the questions.

Sigrun seemed no worse from her ordeal. She proudly showed her scars, now healing in long pink streaks across her torso. She was as effervescent as always and Leonie felt her own spirits buoyed by the young dwarf.

Anders finally forgave her for sending him back to camp to tend to Sigrun. He was examining the wound on her arm and his tone finally took on the suggestive, leering quality as he flirted outrageously with her. She found herself smiling and flirting back and the pain in her heart continued to slowly lift and heal.

Later, as she sat staring into the fire during her watch, Loghain stepped out of his tent and she heard his footsteps rustling through the tall, golden grass, moving away from her. One deep breath later, Leonie went to find him.

"So I took one more thing from you," he said without preamble.

"I do not believe I said that," she reasoned, moving closer to his rigid frame.

"Not all things need to be spoken. The accusation was there."

"Nonsense, Loghain. There was no accusation in my words, implied or otherwise. It is your own guilt that drives this mood, your inability to forgive yourself. Do not blame me for it," she responded, and her sorrow for him, for Duncan, for Aura made her heart ache.

He stood in stony silence, remote and cold. She reached out supplicating hands and rested them lightly on his arms. "I did mourn him, Loghain, and I shall carry Duncan in my heart always, you know this. But I love you and you are in my heart as well," she whispered and rising up on the tips of her toes, she kissed his cool lips.

"When you believe that, when you understand my heart, I will be waiting," she added and quietly made her way back to the fire.

As soon as the towers of the Vigil came into view, their pace quickened, all of them anxious to be home. Loghain had said nothing else to her and she left him alone, reluctantly forcing herself to let him find his way to her side when he was ready.

Aura was waiting for them in the courtyard, standing next to an anxious looking Varel. Aura's hands were twisting in her skirt, her eyes scanning the returning Wardens for a glimpse of Kristoff. Leonie moved to her side, her arm slipping around Aura's shoulders and moving her away from the others.

"In death, sacrifice," she said softly and Aura clutched at her, breaking down, her sobs harsh and heartbreaking. Leonie held her, offering what comfort she could, even knowing nothing but time could heal Aura.

From somewhere overhead Leonie was certain she heard the sound of an eagle, its call floating mournfully in the air.

**A/N:** _The decision on how to handle Kristoff/Justice was difficult for me. In the end, I let my heart guide my fingers. The Dalish belief that eagles travel between the spirit world and the earthly realm is actually taken from the Cherokee belief. My thanks to Gene Dark who offered several logical choices for the decision. It helped clear those muddied waters and let me find my own answer._


	34. Chapter 34

**A/N: **_Sorry, a rather actionless but necessary chapter to tie up some loose ends from their Blackmarsh adventures._

**Agreements, Arrangements and Arguments**

As tired as she was, Leonie was not allowed the privacy of her room upon their return to the Vigil. Everyone had things they needed or wanted from her or wished to say to her. She was being pulled in several directions at once. Her frustration was encouraged by her exhaustion and settled along her skin like an itch.

She spent an hour with Aura, consoling the woman, extracting a promise from the widow to stay with them for the time being. Her heart ached for the pain she knew that Aura must be feeling and Leonie also felt a great deal of pride at how stoically the younger woman was taking the news. But then, Leonie thought with bitter reflection, Aura actually knew how to be the wife of a Grey Warden, as opposed to Nida, who had used it as an excuse to bed another. She pushed the thoughts away and stood up.

"I shall arrange a larger, cheerier room for you Aura and I hope you will agree to stay permanently. You have a home here should you so choose," Leonie said as she gave the other woman a hug.

"I will send a tray up to your room, Aura. Please promise me you will eat something," Leonie instructed in a kind but stern voice. Varel called it her Command and Conquer voice. She had chuckled then, unaware that she had such a voice but enjoying his observation. "And I shall send our healer to visit you. He will be able to offer a sleeping draught, should you so need," Leonie finished in a softer voice.

She tapped on Anders' door and he opened it, freshly scrubbed and in an intricately crafted robe of various shades of green with gold braided trim. "Ah, finally come to your senses, woman?" he asked, leering at her.

"I am afraid that a man who wears a robe more beautiful than my best ballgown is far above me. I could never be sure who people were casting admiring glances at," she responded with a wide smile.

"Hmm, somehow that's not the response I was expecting," Anders said with a slight frown which righted itself immediately. "But it's undoubtedly true!"

She instructed Anders to check in with Aura to make sure she was well. "Have I your agreement that you will offer her aid and nothing more?" she asked seriously.

"You do, Lion. I can be a gentleman when necessary," Anders agreed with irony lacing his words, another smile on his lips. "Mind you, it isn't easy, but I think I can show the proper restraint," he added with good-natured humor and she couldn't help the laughter that bubbled up.

"No, I imagine it is not," she responded and then went next to Ser Tamra's room. Nathaniel answered her knock and she blushed, convinced she must have taken a wrong turn somewhere and ended up at Nathaniel's door.

"Am I lost again? I was looking for Ser Tamra's room," Leonie said with an embarrassed smile. "I beg your pardon for the interruption," she added and started to move away until she noticed that the normally pale Nathaniel was turning a vivid shade of red.

"You're not lost. I was just…" he trailed off and it was then that she noticed his clothing was slightly disheveled and his braids had been taken out, his hair hanging lose and dark, brushing his shoulders.

"Oh? Oh – I – will leave you to it. I mean…" Leonie trailed off as her embarrassment grew.

They stood staring at each other for long moments and later Leonie would wonder who was the more embarrassed of the two. Finally, when the silence was about to strangle her, she stuttered, "Oh Maker, just let Ser Tamra know that we will discuss her decision in the morning."

"Thank you Commander Leonie!" Tamra called from the room and Leonie's blush only heightened, as did Nathaniel's.

She walked quickly down the hall. Some would call it a hasty retreat but Leonie told herself it was merely a strategic one. She knocked softly on Sigrun's door.

"Hey Lion! What'd you need?" Sigrun asked, opening the door with a book in her hand. Sigrun had discovered the vast library of the Vigil and as Leonie stepped into Sigrun's room, she noticed a large stack of books on the floor beside the dwarf's bed.

"I wanted to make sure that your wounds were healing," Leonie explained and then waved at the pile of books. "But I shall not keep you from your reading," she added with a grin.

"There are so many books in one place. I tried to sneak into the Shaperate once. Shaper Czibor threatened to have me exiled," Sigrun explained with an unrepentant grin. "I told him he'd have to catch me first."

Leonie laughed. "I will have to arrange for my books to be sent from Val Royeaux. There is a history of the Orzammar Shaperate among them."

"Really? You would do that for me?" Sigrun asked, her blue eyes widened with surprise and delight.

"Absolutely. I shall send the letter tomorrow, my friend."

If only, Leonie thought tiredly as she wound around the long corridors to the staircase, she herself had time to curl up with a good book. With a grimace, she made her way down the stairs to her office. Both Varel and Garavel were waiting inside and Leonie began to issue orders immediately, eager to be done with her day.

"Captain Garavel, I want you to arrange for three guards to accompany me tomorrow morning. We are going to retrieve a body and I want a litter or, preferably, the oxcart to accompany us."

She saw Garavel frowning and raised her hand to stop the objection already forming on his lips. "Kristoff deserves no less than his due, a funeral pyre and service, Garavel. I will tolerate no arguments on the subject," she warned irately. Was there a notice posted somewhere in the keep that suggested she enjoyed issuing commands only to have to stop and explain them?

Garavel had the sense to nod and bow. "Yes, Commander. I will make the arrangements."

"You are also to make the arrangements for the funeral pyre. It will take four days for the round trip there and back. Have the pyre scheduled for the fourth night, yes?"

"At your order, ser," he answered and she dismissed him.

"A day without arguments would be a glorious day indeed," she remarked wistfully to Varel. He smiled slightly in sympathy.

"Yes, Commander, I should think so."

"Please make arrangements for Aura to have a larger, brighter room, yes? She will need a place to mourn in private but I do not wish her to be so far from other people," she instructed.

"As you say Commander," Varel replied and then asked in his oddly comforting, solid way, "Will she be with us long?"

Leonie tapped her chin lightly with a thoughtful expression and then nodded once. "If she in agreement, she will become the new keeper of the house, yes?"

"I believe you mean housekeeper, Commander," Varel corrected with a quiet huff of laughter.

"Is that not what I said?" Leonie sighed, moving fingers to her temple. Bath. Dinner. Bed. All were calling her, beckoning to her and all were just out of reach at the moment.

"Of course," Varel agreed and she saw his lips twitch as he handed her a stack of letters. "This is the official proclamation announcing Delilah Howe Beechem as the new Bann of Amaranthine. There are four copies you must sign. One goes to Teyrn Fergus Cousland, one goes to Queen Anora, one goes to Bann Delilah and one for your personal records."

"I suspect Teryn Fergus will not be at all happy with the decision. I wish to add a personal note in with the official letter, yes?"

"I think that would be wise. I will be happy to help with that," he offered.

"I want Loghain to add a letter to Queen Anora's. I shall include one as well but I think perhaps his voice will be the one she listens to."

Varel pulled up a chair and together they composed the note to Teryn Fergus Cousland. Leonie ended it with an invitation to visit the Vigil and Amaranthine. She extended the same invitation to the queen. She was sure they would both decline the invitation. She was not exactly on their favored guest lists. She gave Varel the letter and instructed him to find Loghain and have him add a note. With a sigh, she pulled another stack of paperwork to her.

An hour later, Leonie hurried out of her office and up the stairs, determined to take a hot bath and have a home cooked meal before any other duties prevented it. Thankfully she saw no one as she took the steps two at a time and, once in her room, waiting for the hot water to arrive, she sank onto the bed, glad beyond measure to feel the softness surround her.

A firm knock announced the arrival of her hot water and she ushered the young servants in. Within a few minutes she was soaking in the water, her head leaning against the wall, eyes closed. Her cuts were protesting but her muscles were practically purring in contentment as they began to uncoil.

Another knock, this one more than firm, startled her out of her contented state. She contemplated, with lazy indolence, ignoring the interruption and was about to do so when an imperious pounding caused her eyes to widen. Only Loghain had the effrontery to bang on her door in such a high-handed manner. Leonie supposed it was time to stop avoiding the inevitable argument.

She splashed out of the tub, grabbing her bathsheet. "A moment!" she called and struggled to dry off. Her skin glowing from the scrubbing, and still damp, she grabbed up her wrapper and belted it around her waist. Hasty fingers raked through her wet hair.

Loghain, looking no warmer than he had earlier, strode into her room the minute she opened the door. The temperature in the room dropped.

"Come in," she murmured dryly. "Do not stand upon formalities," she added, tightening the knot of her wrapper.

She stepped into the hall and motioned for the guard to step closer. "Please go to the kitchens and instruct the cook to send a dinner tray up in an hour. I suggest you avail yourself of a meal whilst there," she advised before closing the door and resting against it. There was no reason to have the unsuspecting guard witness to the argument that was about to ensue.

"I warn you, Loghain, should you yell and carry on, you will be met with equal verve," she cautioned. "It has been a very long day and I am exhausted. And," she continued, lips twitching, "may I also just say that you look terrible?"

Loghain did not reply, did not acknowledge the humor. He was alternating between ice and stone and she had to bite back the sudden rise of laughter that tickled her throat. He was angry and in the low lighting in her room, he looked almost petulant, a child not getting his way.

"Perhaps if you list my transgressions, we can get down to the actual argument," she finally said after several moments had passed.

Loghain was staring out her window and seemed to be lost in thought. She came closer, put a gentle hand on his arm. "Tell me what it is that is upsetting you, Loghain," she urged, squeezing his arm in encouragement.

"You said you love me," he began and then fell silent again. Leonie sighed. He was angry because she loved him? They would have a very rocky time of it if he got angry every time she declared her feelings.

"I did say that, yes."

"Why?" he asked and there was a savagery in his tone that caused her to take a step back, her hand dropping from his arm.

"Because it is so," she responded in surprise.

His sharp bark of laughter was bitter, a dull scrape of rusty hinges. He moved away from her. "The man who murdered your husband and then didn't have the decency to let you mourn him properly?" he asked sarcastically. "I find that difficult to believe."

Leonie's heart skidded and thudded along a bumpy path as she tried to understand the man before her. It was as if he didn't want forgiveness. A tortured soul who could not move beyond his pain because he could not acknowledge it and Leonie wondered suddenly if she had the strength within her to pull him, however reluctantly, to a place beyond that pain.

"The man who now holds my heart in his hands, yes," she finally murmured. "And difficult or no, I speak honestly, Loghain."

Silence again, so thick with emotion that Leonie could feel it wrapping around her like the heavy mist of the Blackmarsh.

"Why didn't you tell me?" he snarled suddenly, turning and taking a step forward, a step toward her. Leonie braced herself, knowing that if his anger turned outward against her, she would be forced to hurt him, to make good on her promise that he would not manhandle her again without consequences. His hands hung in tight fists at his sides as he waited for her answer.

"As I do not know to what you refer, I can hardly answer the question, Loghain."

"About your customs, about what my actions cost you?"

"I would not take a knife to a healed wound merely to open it and watch it bleed again. Why would I do such a thing?" she asked, her heart aching now at the sight of his pain. Her frustration at his unwillingness, his inability to just voice his real fears, his pain and be done with it softened.

He fell silent again and she saw how he was struggling with his emotions, how tired he was, how _alone_ he was, living in a self-created universe of one.

"Come, Loghain, can you not just admit that your anger is because you are afraid? You are afraid, I think, of many things. Of being alone. Of being hurt. Of allowing me into your heart," she ended quietly, putting her hand on his arm again, looking into his face.

"You have been hurt many times, I see that. We have even discussed this before and I have told you that I will not deliberately hurt you," she continued tenderly. "Why can you not believe in my words?"

Loghain's face stilled and he closed his eyes. "You fight like a woman possessed, a woman who doesn't seem to care at all for her safety," he said finally but the icy heat of his anger was dissipating. A weariness crept in to his voice, highlighting his pain. And while the sudden change in his demeanor momentarily confused her, she was determined to work through these issues once and for all.

"I fight like a warrior. I _am_ a warrior," she chided. "Would you put me in skirts and condemn me to a life as a lady of the manor? That would kill me, Loghain, more surely than any darkspawn, and more quickly than the taint within me."

A pain, a sharp brief flicker of raw emotion behind the icy blue eyes. She frowned. There was something else, something he couldn't bring himself to say hidden in those eyes.

"I don't want to watch you throw yourself at your enemies like a madwoman," he began and the ice started to harden again.

"I am smaller than you, lighter than you. I have neither the strength nor the reach that you, as a warrior, have. I must turn those drawbacks into strengths, yes? That includes launching myself at the enemy and anything else that gives me an advantage. Surely you know this, Loghain?"

"I find it amazing that you can excuse such reckless disregard for your life," he ground out as his pain gave way to anger again. "You have no comprehension of how unnerving it is to see you scaling a beast that is ten times your height and weight."

"Then do not watch. Or perhaps you would prefer to be the one in noble clothing, the gentleman of the manor?" Leonie responded, her impatience growing. He snorted in derision.

With blinding insight, Leonie leaned in to him, resting her head against his chest. "This is about your Fade dream, is it not?"

He was silent and she allowed the silence for a time before she said, "You saw something that you wanted, did you not? Something you long for and when you look at me you realize it is not possible, yes? That is where your true anger at me comes from. It is not about my fighting like a madwoman." She leaned away from him, studying his face. She could see that she had hit an exposed nerve, he flinched and moved away. The silence settled again, broken only by her stomach grumbling with empty impatience. She ignored it.

"Loghain, if you do not wish to talk, why are you here?" she finally asked, exasperated by his reticence. "You start to say something and you stop. You, the former regent, the right hand of Maric. Both positions that require quick thinking and clear speech, I would hazard. How is that possible that you cannot complete a coherent thought now?"

He moved to her again, quick steps, and she tensed. He saw it, his eyes closing briefly. "I suppose I deserve that," he said and there was a hint of warmth in his tone, a hint of humor. He reached out and let his hands rested lightly on her arms.

"I can't understand you at all," he said finally. "You keep me completely off guard."

"And that is not a state you enjoy," she guessed and her heart hurt, seemed to shrink as he nodded. He was going to tell her he could not continue with the relationship, that he could not love her. To her dismay she could even appreciate why. She pre-empted him. "Perhaps we should agree to stop this now, before we hurt each other more than we already have."

Silence again, long and bleak. It was her turn to move to the window and stare out into the darkness. They would always argue and she could accept that. She could not, however, bring herself to continue to hurt him. She leaned her head against the cool pane of glass and closed her eyes. She was too tired and too confused to cry.

"You are the most impractical, imprudent, impossible, implacable woman I have ever known," Loghain began, coming to stand behind her. She felt his hands, as light as thistledown, on her shoulders, felt his breath against her ear.

"I can see where that might make our relationship a painful thing," she agreed with a soft sigh. "I would wish that we argued only of inconsequential things, which side of the bed to sleep on, whether to have wine or ale with our meal. I would wish that we could agree that, while we are as different as the bear and the lion, there is some need within us that calls to the other. I would wish we could arrange a time each day to just be alone, to learn more about the other." Again she sighed.

"But I would not cause you pain, that was never my intention," she finished and her sadness threatened to overwhelm her, to break her resolve not to cry. She clenched her jaws, her determination not to ask him to love her, to accept her, to accept himself threatening to abandon her.

She felt his hands moving lightly along her arms and back again to rest on her shoulders. "Is that what you really want?" he asked finally and she heard the uncertainty in his voice.

"What do _you_ want?" she countered quietly, a whispered sigh of regret.

"To understand why you love me, to understand why it matters to me. Why _you_ matter to me," he answered against her neck. "To stop wondering when it will end, when you will see me for who I really am."

It was as honest as she had ever heard him. Hope stirred in her, as tentative and fragile as the first bloom of spring flowers. "I see who you are, Loghain. Love does not make one blind. And in seeing who you are, I still choose to love you. I see who I am more clearly."

He turned her slowly to face him and his eyes bored into hers, probing for a truth he wanted to believe in. He slanted is mouth over hers, his lips light and undemanding. "Teach me how to accept, how to believe," he whispered against her lips.

Before she could respond, the window shattered, showering them with glass. She gave a startled cry as Loghain threw her to the ground and called for the guard, who burst into the room, weapon drawn. Heart pounding, blood thrumming with adrenaline, Leonie reached out and took the rock that had been hurled through the window. With shaking fingers she untied the vellum that was attached to it. The words sickened her, angered her, but they did not frighten her.

"_You will pay, you Orlesian whore."_


	35. Chapter 35

**A/N: **_I am grateful and truly amazed at the response Leonie's story has generated. I thank all of you who favorite, review, alert and lurk. It is humbling to know that you care about Leonie's story._

**In the Absence of Strife**

Arguments rose and fell in Leonie's mind like the rise and fall of the ocean's tides. Finally, she just shrugged them away. It would do little good to have Loghain confess his fear of losing her only to have her complain when he wanted to protect her. But as she watched the guard nail the boards over what was left of her window, she could not help but feel she was becoming a prisoner in her own home.

After Anders had examined the small cuts that she and Loghain had suffered from the shattering window and left, after Varel and Garavel had departed to send out guards to search the grounds, and after the guard who nailed the boards had gone back to his post, Leonie let out a long, slow breath.

Leaning against the closed door, she watched Loghain pace the room like a caged lion. That observation brought a smile to her face. Loghain eyed her with a raised brow.

"I can't imagine what you would find humorous about the situation, but I'm hardly surprised. You have a very under-developed sense of self preservation," Loghain remarked, no small amount of ire in his voice.

Leonie laughed as she made her way to his side and pulled him gently to a stop. "You will wear out the carpet and the wood beneath, Loghain," she complained with another smile.

"Have I not agreed to have my windows boarded up, to live like a prisoner within my own walls? Do not frown so," she continued, reaching up to tenderly smooth the furrow between his brows.

"I might be persuaded that you're serious if you'll agree not to go with the soldiers to retrieve Kristoff's body," he replied, his voice losing some of its ire. He lowered his lips to hers and folded her into his arms. The kiss was all teeth and tongues and need, filled with a heat that pooled in her stomach and began to spread along her veins. When he let go of his ice and anger he was a very passionate man, Leonie thought breathlessly as he finally pulled away.

"An interesting persuasion technique, Loghain," she whispered, her voice husky with desire. She rested her head against his chest as his arms seemed content to hold her and she was equally content to stay there. She could hear the unsteady beating of his heart and knew her own was just as unsteady.

"If I thought it would work, I would use it more often," he replied dryly, resting his chin on the crown of her head.

"Perhaps if you used it more often, it _would_ work," she countered and raised her lips to his just as the guard pounded on the door.

The guard was followed by a maid, carrying a laden tray. It contained cutlery and plates and enough food for two. There were two goblets of wine as well. Leonie's smile was wry.

"Gossip and wildfires spread with the same speed, it would seem," she remarked as the maid and guard retreated.

They continued their argument as they ate. Finally Leonie shrugged, sipping her wine. "I shall make an offer, Loghain."

Brows knitted together, he set his fork down. "What is this offer?" he asked suspiciously.

"I will not go with the soldiers tomorrow but only if you do not go either," she stated simply. She smiled serenely at him.

He growled, staring at her, his brows no longer knitted but one raised precariously high. "Madam, I don't consider that an offer. It may be in Orlais, but here in Ferelden it is considered blackmail."

She smiled. "In Orlais it is considered common sense," she replied smugly. Arms folded, she waited for his answer.

He hid a quirked smile behind his wine goblet. "They'll probably make a hash of it if one of us doesn't go," he predicted.

"Not if they understand the consequences of such a thing," replied Leonie with a slight frown.

"You could just order me to stay behind," he remarked seriously and he stilled, waiting for her response.

"Well yes, I suppose that is true. Of course it would be a happier turn of events should you merely agree with my very sensible offer."

"Happier for you perhaps," he rejoined gruffly and Leonie laughed lightly.

"Absolutely happier for me," Leonie agreed with equanimity. "And perhaps you will find it happier for you as well," she added with a saucy grin.

"I suppose I could spend the time shoring up the defenses with Voldrik and Garavel," he mused, taking another sip of his wine.

"A fine idea, Loghain," she agreed and did not bother to hide the relieved smile that lit her face.

They sat in surprisingly companionable silence as they finished their meal. Leonie's thoughts were on the attack and she suspected Loghain's were as well. She was reluctant to begin a discussion on the subject. They were both relaxed and for the first time since knowing him, she saw him at ease with himself. She did not want to destroy the fragile peace he seemed to have found within him.

When the tray had been cleared away, he stood and moved to the door. "Where are you going, Loghain?" she asked, surprised and disappointed to see him leaving.

"To discuss the change in your orders, Commander. Garavel needs to inform the soldiers assigned to the detail."

"Oh," she said, trying to keep the discontent out of her voice. She did not meet with success. She moved to stand beside him. "If you have a mind to, you are welcome to return," she offered, feeling oddly shy at the invitation.

Loghain gave her a quick, firm kiss. "If I've a mind," he agreed with a smug smile and left, closing the door behind him. There were times when Leonie wanted to box his ears. Now was just such a time.

As she prepared for bed, her mind turned once again to the events of the night. Someone was stalking her and the attacks were getting more and more brazen. Was it someone who worked in the keep? A soldier? A servant? One of the many families who lived on the grounds? Someone closer? Someone she trusted? That thought tumbled into her brain and then refused to remove itself.

She could not imagine it could be one of her Wardens. A whispered reminder pushed into her thoughts, a man who blamed her for his father's death and had threatened to kill her to avenge him. But as quickly as the thought arose, it faded into nothingness. She trusted Nathaniel with her life and would continue to do so. He had proven himself a friend and ally. She berated herself for even allowing the thought, no matter how fleeting, to creep in, ashamed of herself.

There were legions of people in Ferelden who still harbored hatred for Orlesians. Many, she would think, still resided within her own arling. Her sigh was the only sound in her room. Someone hated her enough to terrorize her and that meant they also hated her enough to kill her. An undercurrent of fear ran along her skin, chasing the anger. She had enough to worry about without a crazy person stalking her. The last one who had done so had met with a very unhappy end. She didn't want that experience again.

She slipped her dagger under her pillow and wearily climbed into bed. Soft green light from the glowstone gave her some measure of peace and sleep finally stole her thoughts and replaced them with dreams.

A floorboard creaked and Leonie's eyes flew open as her heart slammed into her ribcage, screaming to get out. Her fingers crept under her pillow and wrapped around the pommel of her dagger. She tried to stay as still as she could but it was proving difficult as she wanted to crawl out of bed and hide underneath it. Another creak, a shift in shadows and light, a change in the air around her that reminded her, with painful detail, of the night at Ser Tamra's when Temmerly the Ox had nearly killed Loghain.

"I have a dagger and will not hesitate to use it," she finally mustered up the courage to say. Her voice was raspy with sleep and fear.

"Hardly the welcome I was expecting from someone who invited me to return. Or did I mistake that?" Loghain asked, amusement wrapped around his words.

Gusting breath, released in a rush of relief, was her reply until her voice righted itself. She struggled to sit up, still breathing with difficulty. He was standing at the end of her bed, fingers on the laces of his shirt.

"You did not mistake it but I hardly expected you to skulk into my room in the middle of the night like some sneaky rogue," she responded, rising from the bed and coming to help him unlace his shirt.

"I was hardly skulking, madam. Perhaps you couldn't hear me over your snoring?" Loghain smirked at her.

"Ah there is that silver tongue of yours, dripping with honeyed compliments," she retorted. "And I do not snore," she added, slapping lightly at his arm.

"Indeed? Then you have a bear hidden under your bed, do you?"

Leonie's laughter bubbled up as she pulled his shirt over his head. "You are a most cruel and hurtful man," she said, catching his lower lip between her teeth, before running teeth and tongue along his neck.

"Ah, so that is one of those famous _Orlesian_ silver tongued, honeyed compliments," he replied, throwing her words back at her with a chuckle. He tilted his head back to allow her lips easier access to his neck but she was already moving along his chest and lower as she slowly sank to her knees.

Loghain's breath hitched in a sharp intake, his hands moving to tangle in her hair as she teased his skin, her tongue flicking along his hardened length with feline grace. "No, this is," she finally replied just before she took him into her mouth. His low rumbling groan ignited her blood and when he urged her to stand up several moments later, she found herself pulled to the bed as his long, callused fingers unlaced her nightdress.

His tongue was hot and rough against her skin, moving with urgent swirls, teeth and lips nipping and kissing. He rose above her, his smile feral, eyes heavy lidded with need. She wrapped her legs around his waist, a moan escaping her as his teeth teased her taut nipple. As he entered her, their eyes met and held.

"I love you," she whispered, pulling him in, pulling him closer and blowing softly at his fevered skin. "I love you, Loghain." His growl was response enough, deep and primal, as he began to thrust into her. Their mouth met, swallowing the cries of the other as they kissed.

Later, as she curled up against him, drowsy and content, he asked her about the glowstone. Her fingers, drifting through the silken strands of his dark hair, stilled. "I do not like to admit such a thing, especially to a great and respected hero, but I am afraid of the dark," she finally said.

"The mighty Lion of Orlais? That seems hard to believe," he said quietly, drawing her closer. "Why?" he asked a moment later.

"It was Montran," she began and her voice trembled and fell silent while she gathered her emotions. "I was trapped in the dark with Montran on top of me and I could not move, could not breathe. I think – I think I lost my mind for a time. Now, when I am in the dark, I have that same feeling, like I am suffocating, that I will die alone in the dark," Leonie paused again and gave an unhappy huff of laughter. "As a Grey Warden it is supremely ironic to know that will be my exact fate when my Calling strikes."

Loghain dropped a kiss on the top of her head, his arms warm and comforting around her. "Yet you didn't need it when you slept in my room. Nor at the inn when you came to me," he said thoughtfully.

Leonie considered that. Tentatively, she reached across the broad expanse of Loghain's chest and felt the familiar runes, pressing them. The room became dark. She took several deep breaths as the panic tried to surface, tried to claw at her throat. His arms, soothing and warm around her, tightened. She felt herself relaxing into them as the panic slithered into the darkness. Several moments later she fell asleep.

Slanted beams from the morning sun broke into her dreams and Leonie slowly opened her eyes, blinking. Loghain was still beside her, sleeping on his back, one arm around her and the other flung back across his forehead. His legs were still tangled in hers. She tried to quietly, carefully disentangle herself but he stirred, murmuring drowsily. She dropped a kiss on the tip of his nose and moved silently to pick up her discarded nightdress.

"You slept well?" Loghain asked, sitting up in bed and stretching. She watched the lithe grace of his muscles rippling and wanted to fall back into bed with him. Instead she gave him a grin.

"Quite well, thank you. It appears that you are every bit as magical as my glowstone."

Loghain preened a bit at that and Leonie bit back a laugh. He was rumpled and relaxed and appeared almost content as he swung his long legs out of bed and reached for his trousers.

"I've a meeting with Garavel this morning. I'll see you at breakfast," he said, moving to the door. In three strides he was back at her side and he dropped a kiss on her lips. He seemed about to speak but instead, turned and made his way out of her room.

The Wardens, along with Tamra, were gathered in the dining hall when Leonie entered and there were cheerful greetings from all save Nathaniel, who gave her only a quick nod. He was nervous, a sure sign that Tamra had decided to take her Joining. She gave him a reassuring smile. Tamra was strong willed and brave, two very important attributes in helping to survive the Joining. She was also physically fit and not prone to romantic foolishness about what a Grey Warden was. There was every reason to believe she would survive her Joining.

Before leaving the dining hall, she dropped a light hand on Nathaniel's shoulder and squeezed it in reassurance. "Do not worry so, Nathaniel. She is strong," Leonie whispered and he nodded once, before standing and walking to her office, Tamra at his side. Leonie instructed him to stay outside and there was a brief flare of rebellion in his eyes, a tightening around them, but he nodded.

"You have decided, Ser Tamra?" she asked at the young blonde woman who sat stiffly across from her.

"Yes, Warden Commander. I want to become a Grey Warden," Tamra said quietly, her voice strong and confident.

"Even knowing the risks and the burdens that such a course entails?" Leonie continued.

"Yes, Warden Commander. I have talked to Nate. He's told me everything. I'm not afraid of it," the woman replied and then gave a Leonie an apologetic smile. "Well I am nervous about it, and a bit afraid, but it's truly what I want to do."

Leonie sighed. "It is a greater burden for women than it is for men, Ser Tamra. Not only can we not bear the children of another Grey Warden, we are at greater risk of being captured by the darkspawn and turned into Broodmothers. They are hideous creatures, huge and monstrous, able to produce hundreds of darkspawn in a year, thousands during the course of their lifetime," Leonie explained carefully, watching as Tamra's face paled and her eyes widened.

"I asked Nathaniel to come up with a fast acting, lethal poison and he did. Sigrun and I carry a vial of it on us at all times in the field. Believe me, should you survive the Joining, you will be grateful for such a thing. Warden Loghain also has strict orders to kill either of us should we not be able to get to the poison. Are you still confidant you have made the right decision?" she finished, her voice softer.

Tamra looked down at her hands, folded in her lap, chewing at her lower lip thoughtfully. "I am, Warden Commander. I am not some foolish, romantic girl. I witnessed the Blight and what those creatures can do. I would have asked to join whether Nathaniel was a Grey Warden or not," the young woman said firmly, with great conviction.

Leonie smiled. Tamra reminded her of another young woman who was determined to slay the monsters of the world. "Very well, I shall arrange your Joining. Be ready in two hours, in the throne room, yes?"

"Thank you, Warden Commander! I will survive," Tamra said, a confident smile curving her lips.

Leonie watched as Tamra, back straight, left her office. Her only surprise when Nathaniel entered was that it had taken him several minutes.

"Nathaniel, she is a strong woman. I have seen others with less strength and determination survive the Joining. I have no reason to believe she will not. But you must prepare yourself for such a thing, yes? Spend this next two hours with her, lend her your strength and courage, let her know that you care for her," Leonie instructed and gave him a brief hug. He returned it, his grip almost painfully tight.

After she informed Varel and instructed him to gather the necessary ingredients and prepare the Joining ritual, she went up to check on Aura.

"Aura, I have a rather large favor to ask of you. You need not give me an answer today but I would ask that you consider the request carefully," Leonie began softly, coming to sit beside the young widow.

"You know that, as the widow of a Grey Warden, you will always have a home among us. I would ask that you consider this your new home. Kristoff often boasted of your skills, how smoothly and efficiently you ran your household. I find myself in need of a housekeeper and would like to offer you that position here."

Aura, unexpectedly, began to sob, her face in her hands. Leonie held her, rocking her, unsure what to do to comfort the young woman. "I am sorry, perhaps it is too painful for you to stay. I should have thought this through," she apologized, feeling heartless for even suggesting something so soon after Aura's grief.

"No, Lion, it isn't that," Aura finally said, wiping at her tear stained face and sniffing. "It's that I'm pregnant. I wanted it to be a surprise for Kristoff. I came here to tell him. And now I have nowhere to go, nobody wants a pregnant woman to be a housekeeper," she wailed as fresh sobs assailed her.

"Aura," Leonie said sternly, "you _do_ have somewhere. Stay here, with us. Turn this monstrosity of a keep into a home for all of us, including your child," she finished as she continued to rock the young woman in her arms.

"You would do that Lion? Take my child in as well?" Aura asked, her voice still trembling with her recent tears.

"Why would I _not _do that?" Leonie asked, genuinely surprised by the woman's question. "As a point of fact, Aura, I am quite delighted by the news. I have not had much chance to be near babies and young children. I find I am quite looking forward to it," Leonie finished softly. She put her own sudden vision of herself carrying Loghain's child away, down into the darkness where her other girlish dreams lay hidden.

"I have written to Astrid to join us here and she will make an excellent assistant to the housekeeper, yes?" she continued, her voice brightening once again.

Aura nodded and a few minutes later, Leonie went in search of Anders. He was lounging indolently in the library, Ser Pounce nibbling at his fingers. "Anders, I have something I need you to do," she began and he looked up with a grin.

"Name it and its yours, oh fiercest of lions," he said with a grin.

"You would be a very happy man among the Orlesian women. They absolutely adore such flattery."

Anders raised his eyebrows. "You seem immune to it," he replied with another grin.

"I am only part Orlesian. The other part is Fereldan. I think I must have inherited my mother's immunity to such things," Leonie advised him with as serious a face as she could muster. Which was not much of one, her smile spreading across her face despite her best efforts to contain it. He chuckled as he moved Ser Pounce off his lap.

"So, what is this 'something' you need done, Lion?" he asked, sitting up. His face took on a surprisingly serious expression.

"Ser Tamra is to her have her Joining in a little less than two hours. I am concerned about Nathaniel's fear for her. I am afraid he might do something noble and foolish to protect her from drinking the blood. I want you to watch his reaction. If he moves to take the chalice or prevent her from drinking, I ask that you paralyze him. I do not wish to have to hurt him," she finished and Anders' face drained of color.

"Hurt him?" he gulped, his hazel eyes wide. "Isn't that a bit drastic?"

Leonie sighed and nodded. "Which is why I ask this of you, yes?"

"And if she dies?"

"Put him to sleep. We can deal with his grief when he wakes up. I have been at Joinings where spouses Joined at the same time and one did not survive. At one such Joining, the wife died and the husband attacked my father and nearly killed him before he was, himself, killed. I do not wish such a thing to occur here."

"And I complain about templars," Anders muttered rather darkly and then added, "Of course they're still worse, mind you, but still."

"Please do this for me, Anders."

"Of course, Lion," he assured and then asked after Aura.

"She is pregnant," Leonie said. "I would ask that you keep that to yourself until she is ready to tell others."

"I thought she might be. She's a very strong woman. Are all Orlesians like that?" Anders asked, his curiosity genuine.

"I do not suspect so. Aura is only part Orlesian. Her father was from the Anderfels."

"Are any Orlesians actually pure Orlesian?" he asked with a grin.

"I am sure. They are the thin, painted ones who delight in empty flattery and flashy jewels," Leonie responded over her shoulder as she made her way out to the courtyard in search of Loghain.

"I am sorry to interrupt, but we have a Joining ceremony in a little over an hour, Loghain. I would ask that you attend in the throne room."

Loghain, who was talking to Garavel, turned and gave her a nod. "Yes, Commander. I will be by your side," he acknowledged and Leonie was once again off, in search of Sigrun.

Sigrun was sitting in the stable, playing with a box full of puppies. "They're so soft and cuddly," Sigrun enthused, holding two of the wriggling pups against her. "I want one!" she added with a bright smile.

Leonie laughed. "I think we will need to discuss that with the owner of the puppies at a later date. They are too young to leave their mother at the moment."

But Leonie knelt down in the straw and cuddled a puppy as well. It was remarkably soothing and as the Joining neared, she found she was relaxed and much calmer than she had thought she would be.

They gathered in the throne room. Varel held the chalice in his large hands. Leonie surveyed the room, her heart swelling with pride and a deep sense of happiness as she took the measure of each of her Wardens. And Tamra, her splintmail newly polished, was standing straight and tall beside Nathaniel. Leonie beckoned the young woman forward. Tamra gave Nathaniel's hand a reassuring squeeze, which, Leonie was happy to note, he returned. Then the young knight came face to face with Leonie, her smile never wavering.

The ancient oath, spoken with reverence by both Varel and Leonie, reverberated softly off the walls of the throne room as the other Wardens stood watchful. Without hesitation, Tamra took the chalice from Leonie's hands and carefully tilted it to her lips. The young woman's eyes widened and she gasped and choked as Leonie took the chalice from her nerveless fingers and she handed it to Varel. When the young woman fell back, it was into Nathaniel's arms and he gently lowered her to the ground, his face white against the darkness of his leathers.

"She lives," he breathed on a sigh of relief.


	36. Chapter 36

**Darkness**

"With the gratitude of his fellow Wardens, Kristoff joins those who have sacrificed themselves for the greater good. We honor his sacrifice, we pay tribute to his dedication to duty. We shall miss him until we return to the arms of our fallen brothers and sisters." Leonie took a deep breath, eyes damp. She kept her personal grief, her personal guilt about Kristoff's death, to herself. But there was a darkness in her, she felt it creeping along her thoughts, insidious and insistent.

"In death, sacrifice," Leonie finished with a nod to Aura.

The young widow came to stand by Kristoff's pyre and she slowly unraveled her long hair from its chignon before gathering the blonde stands into one hand. Leonie handed Aura her dagger.

"For my husband, whose name will reside in my heart always," Aura said, tears forming and beginning to slide silently down. She cut off her hair.

"My last gift to you, beloved husband," Aura whispered, placing the long hank of golden hair on his crossed arms.

With a nod to her fellow Wardens, Leonie picked up a lit torch and cried, "For the Grey Wardens!" and the others echoed the cry back to her. She bent her torch and lit the pyre and her Wardens, one by one, did the same.

Leonie watched silently as the smoke begin to curl and wing its way into the ocean of the night, lost to the stars. Only when she knew her own emotions were too close to the surface to contain did she turn, walking away from the others, trying to gather her emotions and her thoughts.

Her tears came unexpectedly. Tears for all her lost brothers, so many over the years that she couldn't even count them all. Her tears continued, sliding silently down her cheeks. Tears for her father. For Tremain. For Marcus. For Riordan. For Kristoff. For Duncan and for all the dreams that had died with him. How many more would she lose? That darkness bled into her, poisoning her emotions. She had to push it away. If she let herself dwell on those thoughts she would not be able to breathe.

Perched on a low retaining wall, she watched as her Wardens, silhouetted by the pyre, gathered around Aura, offering support. She heard their voices, a soft murmur of sound, like a breeze rustling through tall grass. She couldn't help but be proud of them but her heart ache, wondering if she would lose any of them, knowing it was impossible not to. She closed her eyes against the sudden painfully dark truth that she might have even less time with Loghain than she'd had with Duncan.

An arm slipped around her shoulders and she opened her eyes. Nathaniel was sitting beside her. "You look a little lost, Lion. This must be hard for you," he said quietly.

"I always tell myself that we shall endure, that is the nature of a Grey Warden. No matter the cost, no matter the sacrifice, we shall endure. But it is difficult to believe at times," she admitted softly.

"I think it's particularly difficult because you didn't get this same closure for Duncan," Nathaniel said, his arm still warm and comforting as it rested lightly on her shoulders.

"In some ways, yes. In other ways I think it may be easier. I do not have the memory of him lying on his pyre to struggle against. I have only the picture of my beloved Rivaini pirate riding out of the Jader compound. That is a happier memory."

The tears came again, scalding against the cool night air. Nathaniel gave her shoulders a squeeze. "You always seem so strong. Tamra is in awe of you."

Leonie gave a mirthless laugh. "I assure you, Nathaniel, there is nothing to be in awe of. I cry, I yell, I make many, many mistakes, I lose my temper too easily."

"Oh," Nathaniel said with a twitch of his lips. "You mean you're human and not the second coming of Andraste?"

Leonie's laugh was more relaxed and natural. "I am definitely the former and not the latter," she agreed.

"I thought I'd never get over the anger I felt when I returned from the Free Marshes. You helped me with that, gave me a purpose, a place to put all that anger to good use. You placed a great deal of trust in me when nobody would even look at me without spitting on me. You may not be the second coming of Andraste, but you're not just another person either, Lion."

"You are a good man, Nathaniel, an honest man with a good heart. I am proud to call you brother," she said in reply, feeling unworthy and faintly embarrassed at his praise. "Now go find our newest Warden and enjoy some quiet time. Wardens never know how long such quiet will last," she ordered with a smile.

"Thank you," she added softly and he jumped down from his perch. She watched him disappear into the darkness.

She was just a human, as mortal and prone to mistakes and pride and stubbornness as any other. But his words gave her renewed strength, reminded her that her Wardens cared about her. That her family was here and she must live in the present, not look back. _Press forward_, she reminded herself once again. She stood up and walked along the retaining wall, concentrating on her balance rather than the dark thoughts that wanted to settle into her soul.

"Am I intruding?" Loghain asked quietly.

"I think perhaps I am not the best company tonight, Loghain," she responded and her sadness muted her voice.

"That was not my question." There was something in his voice that mirrored her own mood.

"You are not intruding. I merely sought to warn you that I am not good company," she finally said when it became apparent he was not leaving. He held a hand out to her and helped her down.

The wind was sharp and cold. Leonie had not noticed it earlier but her cloak was beginning to whip around her. She shivered, moving closer to Loghain. "I think we will awaken to a frost tomorrow," she found herself saying and then chastised herself for the inanity of her remark.

"Maker, next you'll want to discuss crop rotations," he growled, pulling her closer and wrapping his own cloak around them.

Leonie sighed. "It is my mood, Loghain. I can discuss inane things or I can weep and wail and wish for things that cannot be."

He stopped walking then, turning to face her. She couldn't make out his expression but she was sure he was either frowning or scowling. When he spoke, she realized it must be a scowl. "You are making the mistake that most commanders do. The self-pity and self-recriminations. To what end, I wonder?" he reproved, his tone almost as chilly as the night breeze.

"To what end?" Leonie asked incredulously. "To what end? Perhaps to prevent making the same mistakes again? To perhaps show that despite everything you are still capable of compassion?" she continued, her voice rising as she fought back tears and anger. "Do not tell me for a minute you have not had these thoughts. That you have not wanted to mourn the loss of your men. That you have not regretted what you have had to do for the sake of duty. That darkness has not cast shadows on your thoughts many times."

Loghain shook his head. "Don't presume to know what I think and don't think about this subject," he snarled.

Leonie wanted to laugh. And cry. They were going to have an argument. An argument she was provoking because she was sad and miserable. "Did I not warn you I was not good company," she muttered, moving away. "The very last thing I want to do is have a fight with you, Loghain."

"My intent was not to fight. My intent was to offer solace. It would seem I'm out of practice," he finally admitted dryly.

Over Loghain's shoulder she saw the pyre, still burning; a beacon of light in the bleak ocean of darkness. It was an affirmation that her sacred duty was worth the sacrifices. A gust of wind came up, shaking the leaves, sending some scurrying along the ground with helpless abandon. She stepped closer to him again.

"So it would seem," she agreed, but her smile was reasserting itself.

"I think perhaps we should open some brandy and celebrate this momentous occasion," she added, allowing herself to reach out and caress his cheek.

"Oh? What momentous occasion would that be?" he asked, leaning into the touch.

"We did not fight, even though I believe we both provoked each other. Surely that is an occasion worthy of Antivan brandy and a warm fire."

He snorted. "You are provoking, I will give you that."

"And you are vexatious. Yet here we are," she agreed, her smile growing brighter.

She let her arm entwine with his as they made their way back to the keep. The last of her dark mood was taken by the wind to scurry along the ground with the leaves and she was happy to let it go.

* * *

"We've finally broken through the rubble, Commander. As I suspected, it leads into the Deep Roads. We need to find the main opening and close it," Voldrik announced the following morning as she sat at her desk.

"I shall organize a party at once, Voldrik," Leonie assured him and stood up to move to the adjoining door. With a soft knock, she entered. He was standing at the large map of the arling that hung on one wall, deep in thought, brows knitted, arms folded.

"Loghain?" she finally said and he turned his head to look at her over his shoulder.

"Commander?"

"Voldrik has finally finished the task of removing the rubble in the lower cellars. I am taking a team in to investigate and while I am doing that I want you and Nathaniel to go to Amaranthine. I do not trust Constable Aidan to ensure the repairs to the city's defenses are being completed."

Loghain's scowl was both immediate and fierce. A lesser person would feel the urge to cower. Leonie merely release an internal sigh and stood with her hands behind her back, trying to look calm and relaxed.

"So," he sneered, "I'm to be your errand boy."

"Yes. Absolutely. I want to send my best tactician and strategist to Amaranthine as an errand boy," she returned sardonically. "I would never want him to actually inspect the city defenses and offer suggestions for improvements." The man's prickly pride would not best her, she promised herself, gripping her hands behind her back more tightly.

His brow lowered and his eyes narrowed. "More Orlesian tactics?" he asked sourly. "Confuse the enemy with flattery and sarcasm?"

Leonie raised a brow. "Or perhaps you could take an honest assessment of your abilities as a compliment?" she suggested dryly.

Loghain grunted, turning back to the map and Leonie, resisting the urge to roll her eyes, went to stand beside him. "I also want you and Nathaniel to visit Bann Delilah. She may be feeling overwhelmed by her new duties. Nathaniel can reassure her as only a brother can and you have a great deal of experience in these matters. You can perhaps offer her advice."

Snorting, Loghain looked at her again. She smiled at him calmly. "Your assessment is annoyingly sensible," he finally acknowledged with very little grace.

Biting back a triumphant smile, Leonie merely nodded and turned to go find the other Wardens. "Stay the night if it appears you cannot make it back to the Vigil before dark," she instructed as she started to leave. Loghain's hand on her shoulder stopped her.

"I – ," he began and hesitated. "Be careful," he finally said and squeezed her shoulder gently.

"You as well, Loghain," she responded softly.

Tamra was in her splintmail, greatsword in hand, when Leonie finally found her in the training yard. Alec, the young shepherd turned soldier was standing beside her as Tamra demonstrated a defensive stance.

Thrilled when Leonie explained their mission, Tamra went to gather her kit. It was not often Leonie saw a woman capable of swinging a greatsword with such precision but Tamra, for all her delicate air, was strong and her shoulders and arms powerful.

Anders, Sigrun and Tamra met her at the entrance to the cellars fifteen minutes later. Sigrun was explaining to Anders why she no longer wanted a puppy.

"They wet all over me, it smelled disgusting," she explained, wrinkling her noise in distaste.

"Perhaps you would be happier with a stuffed puppy?" Leonie teased as they started off.

Sigrun gasped, stopping in her tracks. Leonie frowned and looked at the dwarf, who was wearing a look of disbelief. "You mean you stuff little puppies?" she asked, horrified.

They entered the under cellars still laughing as Anders explained about dolls and stuffed animals. Ser Pounce was meowing plaintively at the discussion.

"Nate had a stuffed bear when he was a little boy. He carried that motley thing around for years. I think Delilah finally decided to launder it. Only a bit of stuffing remained by the time she was done. It broke poor Nate's heart to lose it," Tamra interjected and they were all laughing again until the first pull of darkspawn stung their blood.

"Do not be alarmed, Tamra, you are experiencing the taint in your blood sensing nearby darkspawn," Leonie reassured her newest recruit. Tamra nodded, scratching at her arms. Finally the young woman pulled out her greatsword.

They encountered several small groups of darkspawn, easily dispatched. Leonie was able to assess Tamra's skill in battle and was impressed by the woman. Not careless, but neither was she afraid to enter the fray.

Turning a corner, Leonie could not help but groan as a familiar pain pierced the back of her head. "Ogre," she muttered in disgust. "Always an ogre," she groused darkly.

"Don't be alarmed when Lion hurls herself at the brute. It's actually quite fun to watch," Anders warned Tamra. Leonie rolled her eyes at Anders and issued her orders.

"There is an emissary among the group. Emissaries are casters, Tamra, with powerful dark magic. Anders will paralyze him and you are to kill him immediately. Ignore everything else, just bring the caster down quickly, yes?" Leonie paused, looking at Tamra expectantly. The young woman nodded.

"Sigrun, there are three other darkspawn. Stay to the shadows and dispatch them quickly. I shall take the ogre. Anders, try and slow him down with ice if you can. And all of you be aware of shrieks. They often accompany ogres."

Leonie let her eyes travel to each Warden and they all nodded their understanding. With a ferocious battle cry, she surged forward, gaining the momentum needed to leap onto the ogre, weapons poised. No sooner had she dug the dagger into his chest and twisted then she heard and felt the ear splittingly shrill cries of the shrieks, piercing her brain like small shards of glass. She brought her sword up and plunged it in beside the dagger, twisting and then grunting with the effort. The ogre staggered and howled and fell with an earth shaking thud.

Tamra made short work of the emissary, sweeping her greatsword into an arc that took the emissary's head off in one graceful move. She immediately turned her attention to the shrieks, Leonie noticed approvingly.

Pulling her weapons out of the dead ogre Leonie went to join the woman. Another shriek materialized behind Tamara and before Leonie could yell a warning, the young woman fell with a surprised grunt of pain. Blood was dripping slowly to form a small pool under her prone figure but Anders, protected by Sigrun, was at Tamra's side as Leonie continued fighting the last two shrieks, her muscles humming as the adrenaline continued to pump into her blood.

"It's not bad, Lion. She'll be fine in no time," Anders assured with a grin as Tamra sat up groggily.

"He's right, Commander. My pride took the worst of it," the young woman remarked with a weak smile, examining the now closed wound, where a poultice was being wrapped in place with bandages.

"Sigrun, please fetch Voldrik and Maverlies. I think we found the darkspawn's main entrance point to the keep," Leonie instructed, sinking onto the stone floor as her adrenaline began to leak out of her, leaving her tired and her arms aching.

When Voldrik and Sergeant Maverlies made their way down to them, Voldrik pointed at a curious looking mechanism that Leonie hadn't noticed. "A barrier door! Aye, that'll do nicely," he nodded and grinned at Leonie.

"Best dwarven ingenuity money could buy. Keep those doors sealed and locked and the darkspawn haven't a chance of breaking through," he explained with a satisfied smile. Leonie watched in fascination as a series of steel doors began to close. When the last one had banged into place, they made their way out of the dark under cellars.

As the sun lowered into the western horizon, with streaks of brilliant crimson red and pumpkin orange limning the gathering clouds with proud determination, it became apparent that Nathaniel and Loghain would not make it back to the keep that night. Leonie swallowed her disappointment as she gathered with the others for dinner.

"Well at least there's more for us," Anders said philosophically when she told them not to expect Nathaniel and Loghain's return.

After the meal, Leonie went to her office and tried to work but her thoughts kept taking her to Loghain. She found she missed him, even though he had only been gone a short time. It was dangerous, she knew, to become so used to him being nearby that she felt his absence so keenly. Yet she couldn't help that the Vigil seemed emptier without his larger than life, charismatic and taciturn presence.

Finally giving up any hope of catching up on her correspondence, Leonie wandered upstairs to her bedchamber. The guard, a thickset man with a mild manner, gave her a brief nod.

"Good evening Alfrens," Leonie greeted and slipped into her room.

Wind whistled through the slats that now represented her window. She frowned at the noise. She hadn't heard it before but the wind had shifted during the day, blowing in once again from the Waking Sea. She could smell the brine scented air as it cried mournfully against the wood to be let in.

As she laid in bed, trying to block out the sound, her glowstone casting green shadows around the room, her thoughts once again turned to Loghain. She was unaccountably nervous about having a relationship with a man who lived only a few doors down the hallway. She had lived alone, learning to rely on herself, with Duncan living so far away, and it had made her stronger. Would living within arm's reach of Loghain weaken her? Make her less able to deal with the daily stresses of command? Her sigh joined the moaning of the wind, now strong enough to billow the curtains.

She growled, throwing the covers back and shrugged into her tunic and leggings. Slipping her feet into her soft leather boots, she stepped into the hallway. Alfrens immediately stood at attention.

"Is something the matter, Warden Commander?"

"Nothing that cannot be remedied by a visit to the larder and a large oilskin cloth. I shall return shortly, Alfrens," she assured him and started down the hallway. She turned, smiling. "Have you need of anything whilst I am in the kitchen, Alfrens?"

"I think I should go, Warden Commander," he began but she brushed his words aside.

"Nonsense. Stay and watch my room and I shall hurry," she promised.

She was surprised that the kitchen was in complete darkness. Usually the banked fire cast a warm glow against the walls and lanterns, turned low, were on the table for the Wardens who frequently awoke in the middle of the night hungry. As she groped clumsily around for a lantern, she barked her shin on a chair and let out a yelp of pain. She wished she had thought to bring her glowstone.

Leonie frowned. Her hands could not locate even one lantern along the length of the table Terrill used to prepare meals on. She felt a wedge of unease lodge in her stomach. She turned to make her way back to her room when a door blew open, allowing a cold gust of air to sweep into the kitchen. Cursing, she moved to close it.

The blow, sharp and unexpected, caught her on the back of her head. The pain exploded around her in white streaks that turned dark as her head screamed with an exquisite agony. Luckily, she thought as she pitched forward, it didn't appear it would last long as an onrushing darkness seemed to rise up and greet her.


	37. Chapter 37

**Echoes of the Past**

Loghain was anxious to get back to the Vigil. He shot Nathaniel an irritated glare. Glancing up and seeing it, Nathaniel set his bowl down and stood up finally.

"Do you think Biddows will do any better as constable?" the younger man asked, hoisting his pack onto his shoulder. He grabbed his bow.

"He can't do any worse. Did you check to make sure the smuggler's route was completely blocked?" Loghain asked, moving swiftly to the door of the inn.

He hadn't slept well and he had developed a headache. Leonie had been right to send him to Amaranthine, as much as he hated to admit it. Delilah was doing her best but neither she nor Albert had any experience with troops and tactics. He had spent most of yesterday going over the defense plans with the new constable and his soldiers. Nathaniel had been busy helping Delilah manage the vast stores of grain and food Esmerelle had hidden in her cellars.

"Yes, nothing is coming through those tunnels anymore. Hopefully there aren't any more in the city," Nathaniel answered grimly.

They moved through the streets with easy strides and in a short time they were passing through the large, newly reinforced, gates of the city. Loghain was relieved to see the number of refugees outside the gates had dwindled to no more than a handful. With the new constable and bann, he knew that even those few refugees remaining would soon have a place within the city.

As they continued their brisk pace back to the keep, his thoughts turned to Leonie. In the quiet hours of the night, when sleep had escaped him, he had finally allowed himself to acknowledge a new happiness. Happiness. He snorted. Why was he suddenly searching for that? He had been fine all these years without it. But there he was, chasing after Leonie Caron like she was the balm for all his wounds. And somehow she was. Somehow the little chit had crawled right into his heart. He cared for her and, if he still couldn't admit it to her, he could at least admit it to himself.

He had loved Rowan with such passion and such hopeless devotion. He had never had a chance with her, not really. She was destined to be queen and they were both destined to save Maric from his own recklessness. Even now he missed her, but no longer with the sharp sting of bitterness, the sharp pang of longing. She was a soft, bittersweet ache in his thoughts now. He wondered what she would think of his falling in love with an Orlesian woman. Once she stopped laughing at the irony, she would probably be happy for him. Is that what he'd done? Fallen in love with Leonie Caron? It seemed bloody likely.

"I've been thinking about these two darkspawn factions," Nathaniel said, trying to match Loghain's long strides with his shorter legs. "I was looking at the map of the arling last night and it seems like the Vigil is right in the middle of the attacks."

Loghain's strides faltered a bit, trying to visualize what Nathaniel was saying. "And you think that might be deliberate?"

"I think that we need to take two groups and start searching for this Mother and the Architect," Nathaniel replied. "Take the information on all the attacks and mark them on the maps. That might give us a pretty good place to start."

Loghain picked up his pace again but not before giving an approving nod to Nathaniel. The boy was a much better man than the father, Loghain reflected with a brief flare of guilt. Loghain had always believed what he wanted to believe but he saw just how twisted Howe was and how guilty Loghain was for listening to him. He was still trying to accept that.

"As soon as we get back we'll start working on it," Loghain assured the young man, letting his bitter thoughts fall into the dust beneath his feet.

It was a cold day, clouds roiling angrily in a embittered grey sky. The wind whipped and whined through the trees, ripping dead leaves away from their home to be caught up in the maelstrom. Loghain's legs continued to carry him home and it was a peculiar thought for him, a curious _feeling_ for him to have. Yet there it was, that notion that Vigil's Keep had come to feel like home.

A messenger met them when they were still an hour away from the Vigil. Winded, the young man double over, wheezing. "Varel sent me," he gasped and Loghain felt the first tendril of fear. The messenger paused, still puffing.

"What? What's happened?" Loghain growled impatiently, barely controlling the impulse to shake the information from the man.

"Commander. Gone missing," the messenger said and the tendril of fear curled around Loghain's heart, squeezing. _Not this time. Not now_.

"Take my pack," Loghain ordered, shrugging out of it and dropping it on the ground as his long strides quickened. He was tearing up the ground under his feelt and Nathaniel was running to keep up.

"Maybe she just got lost, you know how she is," Nathaniel tried to reassure, but there was too much concern coloring his voice to put anyone's mind at ease, least of all Loghain's.

Varel met them just outside the gates. "What happened?" Loghain snarled.

"She went down to the kitchen last night, told Alfrens to stay and watch her room. He left for a few minutes to relieve himself and just assumed she was back in her room since the door was shut. We didn't know she was missing until this morning," Varel said and there was no mistaking the distress in him, the fear. It was gravel in his voice and licking like a hungry flame in his eyes.

"We're still searching the grounds and the keep. I sent a Warden with each search group," he added quietly.

Fury rose, overwriting the fear. "Bring Alfrens here immediately!" Loghain commanded and then went to the kitchens, Nathaniel quick on his heels.

"Ser!" Varel called but Loghain ignored him.

He wasn't expecting to see blood. There wasn't much, a small splash on the whitewashed wall, a small circle that the scullery maid was trying to scrub off. Another drying pool by the door. Not enough to be worried about, too much to ignore.

"Reporting at your order, Warden Loghain!" Alfrens said, saluting. His face was washed out as if the same scullery maid has scrubbed his blood away as well. Loghain moved to stand toe to toe with the guard.

"What were your orders, Alfrens?" he asked in a voice that was sardonic and cold, pitched low enough that the young soldier had to lean in slightly to hear it.

"To keep watch on the Warden Commander, ser!"

"You were able to do that from the upstairs hallway, were you?" Loghain asked. His fingers were flexing, the urge to strike out at the man surging through his blood. The soldier's face crumpled and he shook his head, trembling on the edge of flight.

Loghain swung away from the man in disgust and went to Nathaniel, who had stepped out the door into the herb garden and was bending down on one knee, examining the ground. Loghain bent down beside him.

"They came this way, I think," Nathaniel said, pointing to a confusing collage of boot prints in the soft soil.

"See the larger, deeper treads? They ride over the top of the smaller ones. They're fresher," Nathaniel said and began to follow the tracks.

Loghain's fear had become a cold lump in his stomach. But he pushed the fear away. He had been a general once, he reminded himself grimly, and she needed him to be that cold, aloof, controlled person now. He and Nathaniel continued to follow what they hoped was the trail that the abductor had taken.

She was strong and resourceful, a warrior who wouldn't give up. He believed that. He _had_ to believe that, anything else was unthinkable. But even those thoughts couldn't quiet the voice that reminded him of Montran, her fear of the dark, her fear of dying alone in the dark, the horrors she had endured in a basement at the hands of a sadistic bastard. Echoes of a past agony that touched a responsive chord within him, reminded him of his own mother and her rape and death that he'd been forced to watch.

They found one of her soft boots, sitting alone and bereft, in a recently plowed plot of land. A lone boot. He realized as he ran his fingers along the smooth, scuffed leather that her safety was his salvation. That he could not bear one more loss in his life, least of all hers. He found himself, disbelieving hypocrite that he was, offering a prayer to a derelict, make-believe god.

As if to prove he had no business praying, seething skies, the color of tarnished silver, opened up. Rain, as cold and penetrating as needles, stung his skin. Slanted by the hungry, howling wind, the deluge beat angrily at the ground, washed over and through Loghain as he stood in the field, watching the trail disappear as the earth turned to mud.

* * *

Montran, Leonie thought numbly. Somehow he had found her again, taken her to the dark basements again. She lay still, afraid to move, to breathe, lest he see that she was awake. Montran. He was dead. She had killed him. Had tasted his skin and muscle and blood. But it was black and bleak. The long, dark corridors opened up before her, beckoning to her, offering safety and she stood at the threshold, wanting to enter, to escape Montran's madness and her own terror.

"Impudent girl."

Leonie blinked. What was Loghain doing here with her, with Montran? No, not Montran. Montran was dead. She tried to move her head to find his voice, to beg him for help her. But he was a spirit, a dream, a wish. She was alone in the dark. Again. An echo of her past that she couldn't seem to free herself from, to escape from once and for all.

Fear was in the room with her, she could feel it slithering across the floor toward her like a snake, ready to strike at her, to poison her, to wrap around her throat and choke her. She felt the scream, moving from the hard coil of her stomach up into her throat and she tried to push it down, to stay silent so the snake couldn't take control of her.

"Stubborn chit, get up." Loghain again and this time she managed to move her head only to remember that Loghain wasn't there, she had sent him to Amaranthine. And it wasn't Montran tormenting her, she _had_ killed him. Then who? She raged at her frozen limbs to move, to get up for Maker's sake. She heard it then. A rustle of cloth scraping along a chair, a short grunt, footsteps moving toward her. Something else was in the room with her. Some _one _was in the room with her.

She bit down on her tongue, teeth tearing into the scream that rested there, waiting to escape the confines of her mouth. Keeping her body relaxed and motionless was proving difficult but she concentrated on doing so, concentrated on staying alive and not giving in to the overwhelming, crushing fear that threatened to steal her sanity, to force her back into the lonely darkness of nightmares.

She felt rough fingers touch her throat. _Don't scream, don't move, don't, don't don't. _The fingers moved again, along the column of her throat and she knew it couldn't be Montran. Montran's fingers had been soft and weak. These were callused and nicked, workman's fingers, strong and capable. With that knowledge, came other details. It was as if knowing that it was not Montran gave her hope, made her mind step away from the beckoning darkness.

The stench assaulted her nose. Whoever was in the room with her reeked; smelled of cheap ale and stables and desperation. But who? And why? She tried to move her arms, her hands, to grab at the fingers that were resting on her throat and it was only then that she realized she was bound, that the burning in her wrists was from the coarse fibers of cheaply made rope chafing at the sensitive skin. She was going nowhere unless or until he decided otherwise. She took a bizarre comfort in feeling the soft linen of her shirt murmur against her skin as she tried to move. She was still clothed. One tiny piece of fear fell away from her. He didn't mean to rape her, didn't want to hurt her in that way. Palpable relief, whisked quickly away when her captor spoke.

"No one notices one more drunk in a tavern, do they? Or the lowest servant? The stable hand that mucks out the stalls? Everyone walks by without a second glance."

The voice was rough, hard, angry. It was not, to Leonie's relief, the dulcet voice of a madman. Bitter, yes. But not mad. And surprisingly not drunk, for all that he smelled like the bottom of a barrel of ale. Yet she was still afraid enough that she couldn't bring herself to open her eyes, to see her tormenter, unreasonably terrified that she would find Montran there, despite her brain telling her otherwise.

When she finally did find the courage to open her eyes, it did her no good. The room was not dark, the thick cloth covering her eyes prevented her from seeing. Laughter began to stir in her, to tickle along her nerves, asking to be released. She pressed her lips tightly together. Hysteria would not serve her well, would not help her find the answers she sought, the freedom her mind was calling out for.

"I know you're awake," the man said, his voice edgier, gruffer.

"Who are you?" she asked hoarsely.

"You don't have the right to know, whore," he whispered harshly. "You betrayed him. You deserve nothing."

Tears now in his voice, a voice that dripped with venom and loss. It was then that she felt the press of cold steel against her neck, sliding across her skin, just deep enough to draw blood. She could feel it creeping along her skin. Enough to draw blood, but not enough to kill her. Yet.

_Think! Think, Leonie Caron! _"Who did I betray?" she finally croaked.

"Shut up," he muttered and shifted his weight. Leonie's breath was ragged and her limbs were trembling with the strain of being splayed and tied. She had been here before with Montran, trussed and helpless like a Feastday goose.

Her laughter bubbled up again and she bit her cheek, screamed at it to go away. This was different, it wasn't Montran and she wasn't in Val Royeaux. She was in Amaranthine, in Ferelden. It was different and even when she had once again convinced herself that it was different, she saw no hope for escape.

Why had he taken her? Why did he call her whore and speak of betrayal? Who had she betrayed? Her mind was drifting again, becoming lethargic. The darkness was beckoning again, a summons she felt herself wanting to accept. The knife was moving along her skin again and her stomach was beginning to rebel. Waves of nausea assaulted her. Oh Maker, don't let me be sick, she pleaded silently. The darkness wavered again, waiting patiently for her.

"The Lion of Orlais," he hissed, words wrapped in disgust and anger. "The Whore of Orlais."

"If you are going to kill me, then do so," she said and her voice, still harsh, was gaining strength.

"Not until I understand why," he said and there was a hint of despair, of tears mixing with his anger.

Hope began to awaken in her, began to nudge gently at the mind numbing fear. She became aware of sounds, became aware of her own heartbeat slowing and steadying. The darkness that had seemed so welcoming began to fade, to retreat.

In the silence that followed, she listened, trying to hear something that would indicate where she was. The steady drumbeat of rain, wind lashed and heavy, against stone walls and a thatched roof. Was she close to the Vigil? A small cottage somewhere, but where? Cottages dotted the grounds around and beyond the Vigil.

The knife again, nipping at her skin. A sting that was meant to get her attention, not hurt her.

"I cannot explain to you what I do not know," she said softly, reasonably. Her fear flickered out, a flame extinguished as Montran's face finally faded into nothingness.

"You know what you've done," he whispered bitterly. "Don't pretend you don't, whore!" Louder, but moving away. She could hear shuffling footsteps and a chair creaking. Heard wood popping and hissing as it began to burn. Felt the warmth of a fire.

"Untie me and we shall talk, yes?" she continued in the same softly reasonable voice, just barely a notch above cajoling.

"You can talk fine from there," he muttered with a mirthless laugh.

Leonie bit back a burst of frustration, taking a deep breath. "Then at least have the courage to look me in the eye when you accuse me of betrayal and being a whore," she said with the barest hint of contempt in her voice.

He was moving again, coming toward her and she caught again the smell of cheap ale and stables as he lifted her head and untied the cloth. She blinked at the sudden light, unable to see as the stars danced around in her eyes. The movement had started a dull throb pulsing into her skull and she closed her eyes against the pain, against the brightness of the fire crackling in a fireplace. She heard him move, saw the blurred image of him settle into a chair. Her eyes began to focus, her vision sharper.

Tall and broad, powerfully built, but strangely gaunt. Ragged, unkempt hair, dulled and matted a dusty, lifeless brown. Shaggy beard, growing as wildly as skunkweed in the spring, covering the lower half of a face that was browned by summer sun and grey with dirt. One grime crusted hand held a small, sharp dagger. The other hand was limp, sitting on a small table as if the blood and bone were long gone from it. Neither old nor young. And completely unfamiliar to her.

"I do not know you, yet you speak as if you know me. Tell me who you are. Please," she added, trying to soften her angry fear with a soothing word.

"No demands, whore. You lost that right when you betrayed him by sleeping with the man who murdered him!"

The man fell silent again, staring at her, a look of anguish clouding his eyes. "I came here hoping to find answers, to understand and then I saw you with him. You disgust me," he said and that disgust was in each word he spoke.

Comprehension was slow in coming to Leonie. She felt he was giving her clues and she was too dense to understand them. She pressed on, hoping the answers would come if she kept him talking long enough.

"I do not know of whom you speak. How can I possibly give you answers when I do not know what it is your questions are?" she asked and the rational inflection in her voice calmed her mind, gave it clarity.

"I loved him. He was everything to me. He meant everything to me! But he couldn't stop talking about you. About his _Lion_. And here you are, sleeping with the man who killed him. Why?" he asked, his voice so full of pain, so distressed that Leonie felt it in her soul, settling in her heart like a great weight as she finally understood who he was.

"You are Alistair?" she finally whispered, horrified, angry, heartsick for the broken man slumped in a chair. She knew she was right, she had finally calmed enough to feel his taint, knew he was a Grey Warden, a brother. There could be no other explanation.

Confusion pushed the man's pain away. "You know who I am?"

"Duncan spoke of you in his letters. In his last visit to me," she answered, her voice stronger. "He thought very highly of you," she added.

"Shut up," he said, with less passion in his voice. "Don't say his name!" he continued, voice rising, hardening again.

"He was supposed to help me, to show me what family meant and then he went to visit you, just left me there like I meant nothing because he had to see you but it was your fault, wasn't it? He had to see you because you tricked him! Made him believe you cared," he said and his voice was thick with contempt and accusation.

It was then that her fury clothed her, as hard and impenetrable as her plate armor and she gave voice to her fury. Her words were sharp daggers and she watched as they plunged into him, pierced him, tore into unhealed wounds that began to bleed again.

"Do not dare speak to me of betrayal! You who betrayed everything Duncan held dear, everything he tried to teach you!

"You, who deserted your brethren on the eve of battle because you never understood what it meant to be a Grey Warden, for all that Duncan tried to instill such understanding in you!

"You, who betrayed not only Duncan and your fellow brothers, but your nation as well?

"How would Duncan view _your_ betrayal, Alistair?" she finished, her voice every bit as contemptuous and accusing as his had been.

"Shut up, shut up!" he cried, stumbling at her, his dagger piercing her skin no less sharply than her words had pierced him. She fought down the flinch, the cry of pain that rose in her throat, felt the well of blood bubbling up and sliding down her cheek.

Hot words came to her again but a memory, an echo of the past came to her and she fell silent, remembering Duncan's words to her...

_He doesn't know my time is coming, Lion. I mentioned it to him but he doesn't want to believe it. He'll need you when I'm gone. Show him, Lion. Show him what it means to be part of a family, part of a greater good..._

Her fury fell away, leaving her drained. "He loved you, Alistair. He believed in the greatness that is within you. He trusted in you. Do not betray that trust," she whispered, tears pooling, sliding down her cheeks to burn and sting in her wound.

He raised his dagger and she steeled herself, meeting his dark hazel eyes with her own, showing him that she would accept her fate without begging, without flinching. She was a Grey Warden and he could not make her any less than that, even in death. But he didn't kill her, he cut her ropes and her arms fell limply to the bed.

Alistair put his head down then, sobbing. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, Maker I'm so sorry," he mumbled over and over. Leonie moved to comfort him.

He was a Grey Warden, a brother. Somehow she would find a way to honor Duncan's request of her. She could do no less.


	38. Chapter 38

**Rough Justice, Tender Mercies**

Nathaniel and Loghain were slogging through the muddy field, rain still whipped to a frenzy by the howling winds, when Loghain made out the blurred outline of a building in the near distance and pointed at it. He could feel himself slipping, could feel the mud sucking at his boots as his pace increased. As they neared the cottage, he could see a wisp of smoke from the chimney.

"We need to get out of this!" Nathaniel yelled over the roaring deluge and Loghain reluctantly agreed. He would prefer to keep searching for Leonie, but the storm was too intense for them to continue traveling in.

Loghain pounded on the door, water dripping in icy rivulets, puddling around his waterlogged boots as he stood waiting for someone to open the door. Impatiently, he pounded again and Nathaniel put his ear to the door, listening for signs of life. His head jerked up.

"Someone's in there, sounds like crying," Nathaniel said urgently.

The chill that chased down Loghain's spine was not from the rain sluicing down the back of his neck, it was fear. He turned the handle of the door, body tensed and ready to attack. The door was locked. Nathaniel, hands shaking with the cold, pulled out his lock picking tools and tried to pick the lock.

"Move," Loghain warned finally, completely out of patience. He brought his leather clad foot up and kicked the door. The rotting wood gave way with amazing ease. Crouching, he threw himself inside the cabin.

A man, huddled beside the bed weeping and a woman's voice, a woman's Orlesian accented voice, murmuring words he couldn't understand. His anger, his fear for Leonie's safety, overrode his common sense and he launched himself at the weeping figure, closing his fingers around the man's neck, snarling in rage.

"No! Loghain! Stop!"

He heard Leonie shouting as if from a great distance, his fury so intense he could only focus on the man who had harmed her. He felt her hands pulling at his fingers, looked down at the man, whose face was strangely familiar, even through the tear stained grime. The man's eyes were swollen, bloodshot, bleary, but there was a resignation in them, almost an invitation to continue, and Loghain was more than willing to comply, tightening his fingers around the man's filthy neck and squeezing.

"Warden Loghain, I order you to stand down!" Leonie roared, her voice so close to him now that it shuddered through him, penetrating the red tinted fog of his rage. He released the man and stepped back, hands still shaking with rage, and turned to Leonie.

Blood was oozing from her neck and cheek, her face pale but calm as she put her arms around his waist, hugging him, her tears only adding to his drenched state but he didn't mind. She was safe and in his arms and he held on to her as she sobbed into his neck.

"Nathaniel, subdue that bastard. If he gives you any resistance, kill him," Loghain snarled over his shoulder and Nathaniel nodded.

"Do not harm him, Nathaniel. He will come quietly," Leonie countermanded through her tears. Loghain frowned down at her and she gave him a look that was both pleading and stubborn.

"He needs a healer and he needs our help. I will not deny him either of those," she said at his look.

Now was not the time to argue with her. Obviously she was still traumatized by her ordeal and he tightened his arms around her. She had been tied to the bed that much was obvious from the ropes. He saw the dagger on the bed and bent to examine her cuts. There were several shallow stab wounds, a long cut along her cheek, two smaller ones on the delicate skin of her neck.

"He tried to kill you! Why would you want to help him?" he growled as his fear once again coursed through him. Anger was its companion.

"We shall talk more at the Vigil, yes?" she said and there was an all too familiar look in her eyes, the one that said he wasn't going to like what she said and she knew it, was prepared to do battle with him over it. He felt his tension tightening his muscles. Whoever her abductor was, Loghain was not going to allow her to overlook the crime, to forgo necessary punishment. The man would hang for what he'd done.

He settled her onto the rough hewn chair that stood by the small hearth and began searching for something to clean her cuts with so he could assess her wounds. He glanced at the man, head down, arms tied behind his back. A shaggy mess of a human who smelled like rotting garbage and ale. He smelled like a derelict drunkard. Loghain's impulse, to deliver a solid punch to the man's gut, was held in check only by Leonie's soft moan of pain as he began to wipe at her cuts with a rag that was almost as filthy as the man.

"I am sorry," she whispered finally. "I did not mean to cause you alarm." She leaned against him and he let her head rest on his shoulder for long moments. He realized she must have been terrified, must have felt that same terror she had expressed when telling him about Montran, and his need to kill her abductor was simmering along his veins, a constant primal urge to torture the man before slowly strangling him for causing her to relive those feelings.

"Any idea who he is?" Nathaniel asked, coming to crouch down beside Leonie. He pulled out a clean, wet bandage from his kit and set about trying to bandage her cheek. It proved impossible and she took the bandage from Nathaniel's hands and smiled at him.

"It is fine, Nathaniel. I will have Anders look at it when we are back at the keep, yes?"

"You didn't answer Nathaniel's question, Commander. I wonder why that is?" Loghain asked quietly, his voice cool even in his own ears.

She stood up, tilting her chin slightly. He recognized that pose. It was her proud, stubborn stance, the one that meant she knew he wouldn't be happy with her answer and didn't much care. He rolled his shoulders, trying to rid himself of the tension in his neck and back as he waited for her response.

"He is a fellow Warden. I think that is all you need to know until we are back at the keep, Nathaniel."

Loghain started to protest. He had every right, as her second, to do so. But she held her hand up, part supplicating, part commanding. He was gritting his teeth with the effort to hold back his thoughts.

"Please, Loghain. I am tired and hungry. Can we not go back now? The rain has eased."

He watched as she knelt beside their prisoner, their _Warden_ prisoner, and began to untie the rope that bound his hands. Nathaniel uttered a strong protest and Loghain found himself at her side, knocking her hands away.

"Warden or no, he tried to kill you, Commander. Despite your tenderhearted acceptance of him as a _brother_, he still poses a threat," Loghain ground out through clenched jaws. Maker's breath, the woman was suicidal. She had absolutely no common sense at times. She glared at him and he returned the glare with one of his own.

"He is a broken shell, Loghain, he poses no threat to anyone but himself," she corrected in that obstinate voice that made his head ache with frustration. He also knew, from past experience, that he was not going to change her mind. If he wasn't so angry and frustrated he would have admitted to her that her instincts were sound enough and she had more than earned his trust. However, at the moment, he was doubting not only her sanity, but his own in allowing the prisoner to walk without restraints. What he wouldn't give for a nice pair of iron shackles, he thought grimly.

"As you wish, Commander," he snarled ungraciously and yanked the man to his feet.

Before they started off, Loghain pulled Leonie's boot from his pack and handed it to her without a word. Her eyes softened as she met his eyes and she reached out, her fingers soft and lingering against his cheek. "Thank you," she whispered tenderly and he knew she was thanking him for more than the boot. He leaned into her touch, feeling weary and almost light headed now that his adrenaline had evaporated and she was safe, but his anger was still there, underneath his relief. A writhing monster that would not go away.

They started off, Loghain and Leonie walking behind Nathaniel and the prisoner. The rain had abated, the clouds still low and menacing. Leonie was abnormally quiet on their way back and he kept glancing at her, a worried frown on his face but she would give him a small, tired smile each time. Clearly she didn't want to talk about her ordeal and he would respect that for the moment.

It was as they were slipping and sliding their way across a muddy field not far from the Vigil that he was finally realized who their prisoner was. A Warden, she had claimed. A man with a strangely familiar face, one that reminded him of his old friend and former king. The bastard prince, the coward who had left in a petulant, childish, temper tantrum after the Landsmeet. With a rush of anger, Loghain propelled himself into Alistair Theirin. They fell together, Loghain's arms locked around Alistair's midsection but the mud made it impossible to keep his grip on the younger man. They were scrambling for purchase in the thick sludge. He finally pushed the young man hard enough to send him sprawling into the muck.

He was only dimly aware of Leonie's voice over the anger that burned hotly in his veins. He straddled Alistair's chest, his fist pulled back, his rage a wildfire, fueled by his own regrets and remorse, reminders of both in the face of the man struggling against him now. His fist slammed into Alistair's cheek and he felt the satisfying give of bone and flesh. He brought his fist back again but before he could strike, he felt a surprisingly strong arm wrapped around his neck tugging roughly. He fell back, collapsing in the mud. It squelched underneath him, seeping into his leathers to rest with cold accusation against his skin. And his rage, usually so cold and restrained, seemed to have turned into an unrecognizable fiery beast.

Leonie rolled over and carefully pushed herself up, aided by Nathaniel. She offered Loghain a hand and rather than risk losing the last of his dignity, as if he hadn't already done so, he took her hand. She was furious, he saw it in the way she released his hand, like it was a poisonous snake. She reached down to help Alistair as well. Loghain was supremely happy to see the welt and blood on the man's cheek where his fist had found such a satisfying home.

"Andraste's grace! Look at the two of you, rolling around in the mud like common hooligans!" Leonie huffed, hands on hips, eyes narrowed as she surveyed Loghain and Alistair. Her look of disgust served to make Loghain, whose temper had suddenly deserted him, feel all the more foolish. Not, he thought with grim humor, that she looked much better now that she had also rolled around in the mud. Long streaks of it covered her forehead and cheeks. Her tunic and leggins where covered in it. He bit back a sudden urge to smile at how young and silly she looked. She would eviscerate him if he smiled now.

She didn't speak to Loghain, or anyone, the rest of the way back to the Vigil, keeping her head high and her back straight. As soon as she passed through the gates, Varel and the other Wardens were there, crowding around her and Leonie was issuing orders. Loghain, not wanting to wear his ruined leathers or her disdain another minute, strode into the keep and up the stairs without a word, squelching mud and water as he made his way to his room. Her doing. Another small thrust of guilt in his gut.

He was a bulwark of cool implacability, a bastion of aloof self restraint. He was not this emotional boy who flew off the handle in hot anger. He hardly recognized himself at times. He could blame anyone he wanted but he knew it was his own doing. He had let his guard down. He had allowed emotions that he normally kept pushed down to rise to the surface. It had to stop.

It was time to get control of himself. He was not about to continue rolling around in the mud like a common hooligan as Leonie had so eloquently put it. He loved Leonie. He could admit that to himself. And he knew she loved him, she had said so and had shown it, but she had fallen in love with who he was, not who he was becoming and if that was not the case then it was better to walk away now before he was too involved. As if he wasn't already.

He groaned when he slid into the bath water as cold skin met warm water, and then sighed as long, coiled muscles unwound and relaxed. His resolve deepened. Things would have to change and he didn't expect Leonie to accept any changes readily.

She was a fool to even consider keeping Alistair at the Vigil. A bigger fool if she thought the boy would ever be a capable Warden or even, for that matter, an adult. He had warned Maric to set the boy aside, to preserve Rowan's memory in the hearts of the people and Maric had reluctantly done so. He should have insisted Maric send the boy away, to the Free Marches or Antiva, rather than place him into the incompetent hands of Eamon Guerrin.

Loghain leaned back and closed his eyes. At the very least, Alistair Theirin needed to be taught that actions had consequences. The boy had nearly killed her, he'd killed her horse and he had kidnapped and injured the Commander of the Grey. He was not, by the Maker, going to walk away unpunished. He needed to be flogged at the very least and Loghain was determined to see justice done. Twenty lashes would teach the young whelp a valuable lesson. A little rough justice never hurt anyone.

* * *

Leonie watched Loghain mount the stairs, a huffy wet mess of mud and leather, and had the urge to stomp her foot in her own childish display of ill temper. With a very quiet huff of air that could have been a sigh, she turned to Anders and Varel, both of whom were hovering over her.

"Varel, find a room for our guest. Make sure it can be locked from the outside. Find clean clothes and have someone shave him and cut his hair. And a bath. Maker, the man needs a bath," she instructed, her noise wrinkling as she caught another whiff of Alistair.

"Anders, please tend to his wounds and," she stopped and lowered her voice, "I believe he has a drinking problem. If there is anything you can do to help alleviate his withdrawal symptoms, please do so."

Anders nodded but his eyes were fixed on her cuts, a frown marring his handsome face. "As soon as I've examined you, Lion, not before," he replied and she nodded, too tired and hungry to argue.

"Varel, I want you to station two guards outside Alistair's room. No one will be allowed in except Anders or myself, yes?"

Now it was Varel's turn to frown. "Alistair? Alistair Theirin?" he asked and his usual calm and reassuringly steady voice was as hard as a silverite shield, stiff with disapproval.

"Yes, that Alistair. A fellow Warden." She braced herself. Must everyone always argue with her orders? Did she somehow invite them to do so? Her chin raised ever so slightly.

"Is there a problem, Varel?" she asked finally.

"Not at all Commander," Varel finally mumbled and went to make the necessary preparations.

"Wow, I bet Loghain is one mad dog about now," Anders said as an aside. Leonie's teeth were beginning to ache.

"I do not know that I would describe him thusly, Anders. But were I you, I would avoid him for a bit," Leonie replied.

"Who's Alistair Theirin?" Sigrun asked, inquisitive and bright eyed.

"A fellow Warden fallen on hard times," Leonie said and even Alistair, who had been silently watching the proceedings, snorted at that.

"Oh. I guess there's probably more to the story, huh?"

"Yes, and as Anders is a gossip without equal, he can explain it later," Leonie answered, glancing with longing at the stairs that led to her room that contained a soft bed and hopefully a hot bath that would lead to a long sleep.

She took Alistair's arm and moved him away from the others. Varel was there immediately, hands at the ready to grab his weapon, his eyes never leaving Alistair. Leonie sighed. "Had he wanted to kill me, Varel, I would not be here issuing orders," she reminded him quietly, with just the faintest bit of irony in her tone.

"As you say, Commander. I will escort the priso – the Warden up to his room."

Nathaniel, his arm wrapped around Tamra's waist, was quietly explaining what had transpired to the rapt attention of the other Wardens. A short burst of raucous laughter filled the hall and Leonie could only surmise that the fight in the mud was being discussed.

"I am going upstairs and I do not think I will be down again this evening so I wish to thank you all for your concern, for helping to locate me, for taking care of your duties here," she said and gave them as weary smile. Leonie strove for a dignified exit but it was difficult to be dignified when one's backside was mud encrusted.

Anders was at her door before her bath water arrived. He examined her cheek and clucked. "I think you'll have a scar, Lion. It wasn't treated soon enough and it looks like there's mud in it," he snickered and then burst out laughing merrily.

"I wish I could have been there to see the three of you rolling around in the mud."

Leonie gave him a wry smile as his healing magic flowed through her, easing pains and cuts and aches. "Be glad you were not, my dear Anders. You would have ruined your lovely robes."

"Ooh, good point, fearless leader!" he agreed cheerfully as he stepped back to admire his handiwork.

"Shouldn't be much of a scar after all. I'm just that good," he crowed and then his face became serious.

"Don't take chances, Lion. If someone hated you enough to do all those things, it isn't going to go away just because you want it to," he warned and then slipped out the door with a waggle of fingers and brows.

Bath water and a heavily laden tray arrived a minute later. As soon as the servants were gone, she began stripping. With a groan, she slid into the water, the warmth of it sending tingles along her cold skin. She scrubbed. And scrubbed. It felt as though the mud and grime, the very stench of the cottage, had seeped under her skin. Finally, when the bath water was tepid and the color of dark tea, she stepped out and wrapped a bathsheet around her.

There would be battles in the upcoming days, she was sure of it. Loghain would not accept her decision to aid Alistair, to help him heal, rather than punish him. He had once been an eager, naïve lad, who wanted to be a Warden and belong to a family. She could not fault him for breaking under the strain of what had followed. He needed tenderness and care, firmness but loving firmness. He needed tender mercies, as her mother called it. And she could do no less than try, for Alistair's sake and for Duncan's.

After she had eaten her fill, she climbed into bed and before she turned down the lamp, she felt the familiar runes of her glowstone. She had slain Montran but his ghost seemed ever present at times, especially at night when she was overtired. And when it seemed unlikely that Loghain would find his way to her room, she thought sadly. He was furious with her and would become even more so when she explained her plans for Alistair. She would not let it deter her.

She had allowed herself to become weak during her tenure at the Vigil, to rely on Loghain for guidance when she had never done so with anyone else. She had talked herself out of several courses of action because he had been worried, or expressed disapproval even though she had believed in the course of action. She could not afford to continue doing that. Loghain had come to care about her for who she was, not who he could mold her into. And if that was not the case, better it end now rather than break her heart later. As if her heart wouldn't break now, she thought wryly.

There was a soft rap at her door and she struggled to sit up. "Enter!"

Loghain came in, clean and fresh, wearing a soft linen tunic and trousers. His hair, still damp, was braided and brushed and he looked remarkably handsome in the soft light. She smiled at him.

"Come in," she invited, leaning against her pillows. He entered, and she could tell from how rigid his posture was that he was still angry, or at least agitated.

"I do not think this is a social call," she sighed and waved her hand for him to take a seat. He chose a chair on the other side of the room and she felt the flicker of disappointment and hurt.

"I want him flogged," Loghain began without preamble.

"I want you to be his mentor," she retorted, crossing her arms.

They glared at each other, both unyielding and inflexible.

"I've done everything you've asked of me but I won't do this," he replied firmly, steel edging the words.

Leonie, propped up in bed by a mound of pillows, raised a brow. "Yes, you have done many things I have asked and always so graciously," she agreed acidly.

"A deserter in an army is summarily hanged. I suppose the Grey Wardens actually reward them with medals," Loghain snarled with no less vitriol as he stood up.

"Yet you did not think my treatment of Danella incorrect at the time, yes?" she commented dryly, pushing the covers back and standing up. "I believe you thought a year in prison for desertion was appropriate."

"The two cases are hardly the same, Commander."

Leonie flinched. She was back to being his commander and no doubt an _Orlesian_ commander at that. He was standing stiffly, his posture rigid. He was as angry as she had ever seen him. As unyielding as a stone wall, as cold as a winter day. She went to him and stood quietly for a moment. She did not want to fight with him. She wanted the comfort of his strength again, the reassurance of his presence. She wanted to sleep in his arms and not be afraid of the looming dark.

"Please, Loghain. Let us not fight. Can we not just go to bed and talk of this matter in the morning?" she asked, placing a hand lightly on his arm. He looked down at it and then at her, his face cold, implacable.

"You think to sleep with me so I'll agree with you on this matter? How very _Orlesian_," he sneered, removing his arm from her touch.

Leonie felt as if she had been slapped in the face and almost wish she had been, it would hurt far less than his words. The words that wrapped around her heart and squeezed the blood from it. She tilted her chin up, surveying him with eyes that sparkled with anger and hurt and unshed tears.

"I believe that you have just called me an Orlesian whore, Loghain. Perhaps you and Alistair have more in common than just the taint," she said quietly.

She saw the shock register in his eyes, the immediate denial but he didn't speak. And even though she knew he hadn't meant it, that it was anger and frustration speaking, she could not allow herself to let it go, the hurt too sudden and painful.

Damnable pride, damnable stubbornness, she thought sorrowfully, but she wasn't sure which of them she meant at the moment. Silence, hard and cold and seemingly unforgiving, settled between them.

"Perhaps it would be better if you left now, Loghain."

She turned away from him, and it took every bit of her stubbornness to do so, every bit of her strength to walk to the bed and keep her eyes averted.

"Don't twist my words to suit your ends, Leonie," he said and his voice was harsh and thick. "You know I don't think that."

"And yet, that is what came from your own mouth, is it not?" she asked softly without looking at him.

"Damn it, Leonie, I love you," he ground out roughly and her hand, reaching to move a pillow, stilled. Rough and angry, not tender, but a declaration none the less and one she had not expected from him. One that had no doubt cost him dearly to voice. She could not let his words fall into the chasm between them. The words were a bridge. On this she could meet him halfway. It would not weaken her, she knew.

"Then stay, Loghain," she invited. Turning to him, she padded barefoot to stand before him, tears spilling from her eyes to be lost in the soft linen of his shirt as he pulled her into his arms.

"But this argument is not over," she added just before his lips claimed hers.


	39. Chapter 39

**A/N: **_Thank you to all for your very thoughtful reviews on crime and punishment, they helped a great deal. A special shout out to my husband for patiently staying awake most of the night discussing the pros and cons of each idea_**.**

**Advice and Consent**

Long before the sun began to stir, Leonie woke up. The darkness was complete, impenetrable, robbing her of breath and composure. She struggled against the need to scream, to move. It was slowly choking her and she let out a whimper. Loghain's voice, sleep blurred and calm, reassured her that she was not alone.

"Shhh, Leonie. I'm here," he said, pulling her closer and settling an arm around her before dozing off again.

Sleep did not return to Leonie. It had been taken by the monsters that hid in the dark. She listened to Loghain's slow, measured breathing and the soft whine of the wind coming through her boarded up window, she counted her own uneven breath but sleep was an elusive fantasy. She tried to be still, to lie quietly. She tried to fight her panic.

"Do you want to talk?" Loghain asked, his voice less muzzy.

"I am sorry, Loghain. Go back to sleep," she sighed against the bare skin of his broad chest. He dropped a kiss on the top of her head and turned on his side to face her, one long leg draping across her, pulling her closer until it was almost impossible to tell where she left off and he began.

"I'll sleep when you sleep," he rumbled and she closed her eyes, his warmth a safe harbor that finally lulled her into sleep.

It was still an odd feeling, waking up with Loghain. There was a sweet grace about him as he slept, as if he removed his burdens when he removed his armor. She resisted the temptation to brush his dark hair off his forehead, to run a finger lightly along his sable brow.

"Is it time to resume the argument?" Loghain asked dryly, without opening his eyes.

"How did you know I was awake?" she asked, no longer resisting the temptation to let her fingers find their pleasure in his sleep mussed hair.

"You stopped snoring. It was a reasonable conclusion," he responded and then yelped as she tugged his hair.

"I do not snore, Loghain Mac Tir."

"Yes, so you wish to believe, Leonie Caron," he returned and pulled her closer, his lips softly demanding. Her mouth opened to accept his tongue as she wiggled closer. He rolled over on his back, pulling her with him.

Varel's voice at the door interrupted their interlude. "Some day we must take a vacation," Leonie muttered wryly, rolling off Loghain with a regretful sigh and searching for her nightdress. Somehow it had ended up half way across the room.

"Sorry, Commander, but there is a problem with the priso – Warden Alistair."

"I assure you, Varel, there is more than one problem with him. And if you feel compelled to call him a prisoner, I understand. We do have the young man locked in a room after all," she added with a quirked brow.

"Yes, Commander."

"Give me a moment to dress and you can explain this problem to me on the way to his room, yes?"

"As you say, Commander."

Leonie closed the door and went to her armoire, pulling out her ceremonial plate. Loghain eyed her with a hint of a smile. "To impress him or scare him?" he questioned.

"Neither. To give me courage," she admitted with an embarrassed chuff of laughter. She pulled on her padding and added, "But it will not hurt to remind him who the Grey Warden Commander is, yes?"

He rose and came to help her buckle into her armor, standing before her in only his beautifully scarred skin. His fingers lingered along her skin wherever it was exposed and she felt the warmth of his breath along her neck as he leaned in to buckle her breastplate. He ran his hand down her thigh before he moved the cuisse into place. Her breath was coming in short gasps as he followed the curves of her hips before settling her tasset and cinching it. His fingers massaged her calf muscle and then slid her greave up and laced it. The warmth in her was spreading outward, slow and teasing at each lingering touch. When he had fastened the last buckle, he bent and kissed along her jaw line.

"I believe you are ready to intimidate and impress, Commander," he informed her with a smug smile. Leonie was still trying to catch her breath.

"I shall see you later" she finally managed and kissed him quickly. He caught her hand as she turned away.

"Don't allow him to let you lower your guard," he warned.

Leonie nodded with an impudent grin. "You, however, may lower my guard later." She heard his chuckle as she shut the door behind her.

She and Varel made their way up to the third floor as he explained the problem. Alistair was refusing to eat and refusing medical attention. She shook her head. It was going to be a long day, especially if Alistair didn't at least try to help himself. If he wanted to die there was little she could do to prevent it. Her task this morning was to help him understand his atonement would not come with his death. A task made more difficult by all those who would prefer it.

"You are to remain outside, Varel."

Her instruction was met with disbelieving silence. She tilted her chin and met his eyes. "I am not in the habit of repeating myself, yet I find I must." The rebuke was plain in her voice and Varel nodded once, looking chagrined.

"Open the door," Varel ordered and stood back as she walked through the door. "Maker help us," he added in a low voice as he pulled the door shut behind her.

They had not been gentle with him when they shaved and bathed him. He looked up as she entered the room, his cheek still swollen and bruised where Loghain's fist had landed, and long purple bruises where Loghain's hands had closed around Alistair's neck. There were nicks and gouges on his skin from the razor. But at least he was no longer grey with dirt and he no longer smelled like a brewery built in a stable.

"Were you not taught to stand in the presence of the Warden Commander?" she queried, standing as straight and stiff as she could.

Her instinct was to go and offer comfort, to put her arms around the young man and tell him everything would be alright, that he no longer had to wander in darkness, but when he made no move to stand, merely stared at her balefully through swollen, red rimmed eyes, she commanded, "Stand up Warden!" so sharply that he rose in surprise.

"You will remain standing until I instruct you otherwise. Is that understood?" she continued and he gave a short, reluctant nod.

"You will address me as Warden Commander or Commander Leonie when answering me. Is that understood?"

"Yes, Warden Commander," he mumbled sullenly.

Leonie stood with her hands clasped behind her back, keeping her feet planted in place, though she wanted to pace. Her stomach was knotted and she could feel her tension drawing her muscles taut, a bowstring ready to snap.

"Do you know what Grey Wardens do to deserters, Alistair?" she asked after a moment. Her voice was cool, a reproof in every word.

"No, Warden Commander," Alistair said dully. "But I'd guess you're going to tell me," he added with enough insolence in his voice and manner that Leonie stepped forward, her eyes narrowed and stance menacing.

"First, the Wardens line up in two columns and the deserter is ordered to walk between the columns. Each man utters one word and then turns his back on the deserter. What do you suppose they call that person?"

Alistair glared at her, arms folded, chin at a belligerent angle. He looked like a lost little boy and Leonie fought the urge to soften her words.

"I believe I asked you a question, Warden," she said with soft intimidation.

"Deserter?" he finally spat and the hatred was thick and vile in his tone but it was directed inward and she saw that. His fingers were curled into his arms, digging into the skin. She would not be surprised to see blood there soon.

"Brother," she replied in that same soft tone. He shuddered, shaking his head as if to shake the words from his mind. "Brother," she repeated softly.

"After that, they take the offender into the Deep Roads with no food, no armor, and no weapons. If he survives the night, he is reinstated. None have ever done so. But then, desertion among our ranks is virtually unheard of," she added. She saw his face, already pale and grey, turn ashen. "And there is no recorded act of desertion during a Blight."

Filling with tears, Alistair's eyes dropped, his shoulders bowed. His hands were shaking and Leonie resisted the need to take them in her own and offer succor.

"It would be an easy act, a cowardly act, to starve yourself, to hope your wounds fester and kill you. But death will not bring atonement, Alistair. Not a death by your own hand. You must search your heart, decide to live and accept the punishment dictated by those whom you deserted," she continued, hating her words, even knowing she must speak them.

"Duncan saw something in you, Alistair. He did not conscript you because you had a strong sword arm. He saw the determination in you. He was confident that you had the heart and courage to survive the Joining. He believed that one day, when you realized these things about yourself, you would rise quickly within our ranks to become a great leader." Leonie steeled herself for her next words, knowing that she was about to wound him in a way that only words had the power to do, straight through the heart.

"I do not think he would recognize you now. You must show him. Demonstrate to him that his trust and faith in you were not misplaced, yes?"

It was then that Alistair collapsed on the floor, sobbing. She forced herself to turn and walk out. It was not until she had told Varel that she thought he would be a bit more willing to eat and get medical attention that she allowed herself to relax her stiff pose. Her hands were shaking and her joints felt as though they were crafted from water. She made her way back to her room on unsteady legs and began to quickly unbuckle her armor, it seemed suddenly to be choking her.

As she pulled on her Grey Warden tunic and leggings, she stared at Duncan's portrait, now hanging in her dressing room. Tears pooled and slid down her cheeks as she leaned weakly against the wall. What would he advise? What decision would he reach with regard to Alistair's punishment? Would he forgive her?

Carefully, she removed the painting and went downstairs. Varel was seated at his desk when she entered his small office. "Have this hung in Alistair's room," she instructed and was relieved when he took it without objection.

Breakfast was over by the time she finally made her way into the dining hall. Aura was there, but her Wardens were not and Leonie wasn't sure if she was disappointed or relieved by that. She went to the sideboard and filled a plate with fruit and cheese, before pouring a cup of tea.

"Good morning, Aura. It is good to see you out and about," Leonie said softly, coming to sit across from the woman.

"I have started my duties. I couldn't just sit upstairs any longer. At least I feel useful doing this," Aura said, waving her hand over a several sheets of vellum that contained lists in her fine, delicate script.

"I am glad to hear that, Aura. If there is anything you need, please let me know," Leonie replied with a warm smile.

"Leonie, I have a question and I don't mean to intrude on Warden business but I want to know about this Warden you brought here. The one that kidnapped you."

Leonie pushed aside her untouched plate and nodded. "Of course, Aura. You are free to speak," she encouraged at Aura's hesitancy.

"He is the one that left the other Wardens on the eve of battle, isn't he?"

Leonie nodded and met Aura's look, expecting to see accusation, anger in the woman's eyes but saw only compassion and a faint sorrow. "Why haven't you sent him into the Deep Roads?" the younger woman asked.

Leonie looked down at her hands, folded on the table, and chose her words carefully. "Would you send a sick child into the Deep Roads?" she asked and Aura frowned, shaking her head quickly.

"There is your answer, Aura."

"But he can't go unpunished, Leonie. That cheapens the deaths of every Grey Warden who has died battling the darkspawn," Aura argued and the young woman's eyes filled with tears. "It cheapens Kristoff's sacrifice."

Leonie rose and moved around the table to hold Aura. "I will make sure that my decision does not cheapen or diminish the sacrifices of the Grey Wardens, Aura. You must trust me to do what is right," she assured softly as she continued to hold Aura, rocking her gently.

Finally, Aura's tears spent, the young woman nodded and gave Leonie a watery smile. "Kristoff believed in you without reservation. I can do no less," the woman assured Leonie.

Back at her desk, Leonie was not surprised when the door between their offices opened and Loghain stepped in. "Ah, an argument. Good," she said with little enthusiasm.

"I won't mentor him, Commander," Loghain affirmed, arms folded, eyes focused on her.

"Do you not think he could learn a great deal from you?" she asked with genuine curiosity.

"Oh, I'm confident he could if he chose to and if I chose to teach him," Loghain agreed coolly.

"Yet you will not. Why is that exactly?"

"He is a disgrace. A disgrace to the memory of Maric and a disgrace to Rowan's sacrifices, a disgrace to every Ferelden," he began and his voice was already increasing in ice and stone.

"Rowan? Queen Rowan? What has she to do with this?" Leonie asked, coming from behind her desk and leaning a hip against it, arms folded.

Loghain seemed unsettled by the question and he fell silent. Leonie frowned. There had been a softness, a tenderness that had caressed Rowan's name. "Loghain, you brought Queen Rowan's name up, at least have the courtesy to tell me why Alistair's behavior is a disgrace to her."

Loghain's agitation was evident as he made his way around her office in short angry strides, his face drawn into an fierce scowl. "Rowan was a warrior without equal, she never quit a battlefield and without her Ferelden would not be free of Orlesian occupation," he growled at her and there was that look again, that softening when he spoke her name.

Leonie's frown deepened. Her own history books made mention of the Orlesian victory at West Hills, made easier by the absence of both Rowan and Loghain. It seemed unfair to accuse Alistair of something when her own history lessons told her that Loghain and Rowan had quit the battlefield during their rebellion.

"I do not wish to besmirch her name, nor anger you, Loghain. I suppose our records of the Battle of West Hills could be inaccurate…" she began and before she could continue he was before her instantly, hands gripping her arms.

"Do not dare," he spat and she recoiled at the vehemence and venom in his voice. "Do not speak to me of things you know nothing about, girl," he went on, so cold and hard that she felt the color leave her face, draining into her stomach to form a hard knot of anger and hurt. She focused on the anger. There was no place for hurt in this argument.

She struggled against his hold and when he didn't let go of her, she ordered sharply, "Unhand me at once!" His hands fell to his sides and Leonie brought her own hand up and cracked it with surprising force against his cheek. His head whipped back. His eyes widened as he reached up to rub his ever reddening cheek.

"You will **not** touch me in anger again or I will have _you_ lashed! Is that clear?" she commanded, outraged. She rubbed her arms, knew bruises would form in the perfect shape of his hands.

Loghain had the grace to look appalled. She wheeled away from him, pacing the room. Tears perched precariously on her eyelashes, dancing like diamonds, but she would not allow them to dance down her cheeks. "You loved her," she finally whispered as realization came to her.

Silence stretched between them, a silence made more painful by their unbending natures. Finally, Loghain moved to her and his voice had gentled, lost the venom. There was surprise in it, perhaps even contrition.

"I didn't intend for that," he said. Was he speaking of his love for Rowan or his manhandling of her, Leonie wondered? She slowly raised her eyes to study his face, to see if the contrition was genuine, if it was meant for her. She saw the effort it took for him to meet her eyes.

His cheek was painted red in the shape of her fingers. She hadn't intended to physically strike him either, she had intended to flay him with a few well chosen words. She had not believed herself capable of inflicting physical pain in anger and she was as shocked by it as Loghain was. How could a man who brought out her best qualities manage to bring out the worst in her as well?

"Nor I," she finally admitted.

"You had every right to hit me, it isn't as if you haven't warned me," he said, rueful and with the same edge of shame and contrition in his voice.

"I have no right to do that, any more than you have the right to grab me when you are angry with me. I did not mean to land upon such a painful wound, to inflict more hurt to it," she finally said, feeling just as ashamed and contrite as he appeared to feel.

Loghain reached out and ran a finger along her cheek, moving it up to catch the tear that hung suspended on her lash. "I'm a brute, Leonie. I…" he began and trailed off.

"No more than I."

"My mother brought me up to respect women, not manhandle them," he said and she heard a surprisingly loving note in his voice when he spoke of his mother.

"As my mother taught me never to strike in anger, which is probably why I used to hiss and spit as a child when my anger overcame my reason," she replied with a weak smile.

She put her arms around his waist, knowing instinctively that he would not touch her first. "Shall we agree to forgive each other and continue the argument in a more civilized manner?" she asked, her voice muffled against his chest.

"A wise course, Commander," he replied against her hair, dropping a kiss on the crown of her head.

She moved out of the circle of his arms and back to rest her hip against her desk, arms folded again. "Will you be able to work alongside him, should I decide to keep him here?" she finally asked.

Loghain's brows drew together. "I suppose the other part of that question is could he work with me," he finally answered.

"I will ask him that question but first I would know your answer to it, Loghain."

He clasped his hands behind his back as he paced the confines of her office. "It would be extremely difficult, Commander. As a former general I can't help but see him as a coward who deserted not only his fellow soldiers, but his entire country, during a time of war. Hanging still seems a fitting end to him. But I gather from your question that won't happen."

"No, I will not hang him," she agreed.

"You'll need to send a strong message to the soldiers that desertion won't be tolerated. Danella was a part of that message but his actions deserve a stronger punishment," he argued. He stopped pacing, staring at her, his mouth set in a grim line.

Leonie nodded, the weight of the decision before her almost unbearable. She straightened again, standing before him. "It will be difficult, but will it be impossible?" she asked. He frowned again and fell silent.

"Not impossible, but damned difficult. He would have to prove himself to me."

"You think I am so tenderhearted that he does not need to prove himself to me, yes?"

He studied her, his expression thoughtful as he considered her question. "No, I think you have been a commander long enough to need that proof as well," he answered candidly and she was surprised and relieved to hear his response.

With a sharp rap of knuckles on her door, Varel entered the room. "The prisoner has eaten and Anders is with him now, Commander."

"And the portrait?"

"As you requested, it is hanging in his room, Commander," Varel responded and there was a twitch of lips that indicated a smile was lurking.

"Is there something else, Varel?"

"It was a wise decision, Commander. It has made him more…tractable," Varel complimented before stepping out of the room with a slight bow. He shut the door softly behind him.

"You see, Loghain. Even I am capable of a wise decision once in awhile," Leonie said, turning a sly smile in his direction.

"The law of averages, I suspect," he responded dryly, surprising a gust of laughter out of Leonie.

"It is always rewarding to hear you say such sweet things to me," she retorted before her tone became serious again.

"I need to send an equally strong message to the people of the arling, warning them that kidnapping and crimes against a person will not be tolerated," she sighed, tapping her finger against her chin.

"Agreed," Loghain responded. "Hanging would.." he continued and she waved her hand at him.

"Do not mention hanging again, Loghain. It is not an option," she said, her anger heating her words and tone.

"You are being childishly stubborn on the point. Why is that?" Loghain growled, as his own anger and impatience began to flare.

Why was she? She would be well within her rights to hang him. But Duncan's words and her own desire to help Alistair heal prevented her from such a course.

"Duncan asked me to take care of him. I feel a responsibility to do so. And," she continued, "I know Alistair was not given the nurturing that every child needs. He was set aside by his father, abandoned by his mother, forced into the unfeeling and uncaring Chantry at the age of ten. Nobody ever cared about what he needed or wanted. Not until Duncan." Her inflection was accusing and she was angry at Maric and Fiona.

Loghain's expression hardened, tightened. "His mother died when he was born, hardly abandonment," he ground out. "And whatever Duncan wanted for him, or meant to do, died with him," he continued coldly.

"Ah, so you cannot mentor Alistair because he is a disgrace to a woman who was not his mother, but I am to ignore Duncan's request? How very even handed of you," she spat, her anger growing like a hot poker in her blood.

"And, as I am sure you well know, Alistair's mother is alive and well, living in Weisshaupt Fortress," she continued and saw his face pale, the color rushing away.

"You're mistaken. Alistair's mother was a servant at Redcliffe."

"She most certainly was not. She was an Orlesian Warden, an elf mage. I have met her and Duncan told me of her and Alistair. He watched over Alistair at the behest of the king," she argued.

"That bastard," he muttered, his fist slamming into his open palm.

"You will not speak that way of Duncan!" she cried, incensed by his words.

Loghain looked at her, eyebrow raised, cold eyes narrowed. "I was referring to Maric. He told me Alistair's mother was a serving girl at Arl Eamon's estate. I had no reason to doubt him."

"I can prove to you that Alistair's mother is Fiona of the Grey Wardens," she assured him. "Alistair has an amulet he wears, one his mother gave to him when she left him with Duncan and King Maric. I have such an amulet, as did Kristoff. Aura has it now. It is the amulet given to an Orlesian Warden at their Joining," she explained, her voice growing softer as she saw that Loghain's anger housed a deep hurt.

"That won't be necessary. You've certainly no reason to lie about it." He sank into a chair, running a weary hand across his face.

She came to him, kneeling beside him. "I am sorry, Loghain, I did not know you were unaware of his parentage," she began but he reached out a hand to rest it on her shoulder, shaking his head. Leonie rested her head on his knee, offering comfort to him, sensing how betrayed he felt at that moment.

"Regardless of who his parents are, or whether he was treated fairly or not, you'll have to punish him," Loghain finally said quietly and it was as if all the fight in him had vanished, leaving behind only grief and hurt.

"Yes, I know."

Sighing, she stood and began to pace. The room was too small to accommodate her anxious, restless legs. "I need fresh air, time to think," she told Loghain. He nodded quietly, still lost in his own thoughts, his own misery and she came to him, kneeling again. She reached out a hand and tipped his chin up, leaning forward to kiss him lightly.

"If you wish to talk later, I will be here, Loghain," she told him quietly and then left.

Leonie spent two hours walking the grounds of the Vigil before making her way to the ramparts. There she stood, gazing with unseeing eyes at the lands of her arling, the wind whipping her curls and cutting into her. She braced herself against it, miserable and feeling every bit of the weight of command pushing her into the stone beneath her feet. She knew what she had to do and she knew what she wanted to do. They were incompatible. Duncan and others had taught her what being a commander entailed. She had learned the hard way how difficult and lonely being a commander could be, Loghain had reinforced that in their discussions. But knowing and acting on the knowledge were far different things. Did she have the strength to do what was right?

Loghain found her there an hour later.

"You're freezing," he said, voice sharp with concern. He came to stand beside her and he wrapped his cloak around them. She didn't want to lean against him, didn't want to have to find her strength within his arms. She needed to stand alone, as was her duty as a commander and an arlessa. She tried to find that stony resolve that had gotten her through Marcus' death. She would need it now.

"Gather the others, tell Varel to call the soldiers to formation. Have Briscoe and Tennett bring the prisoner to the courtyard in one hour. I have made my decision."

An hour later, Leonie, once again wearing her ceremonial plate, stepped out of the keep and stood on the top step, overlooking the courtyard. The soldiers, wearing their new silverite armor, stood at attention in an orderly formation. Her Wardens stood in front of them, their own armor cleaned and polished. Loghain and Varel stood at the bottom of the stairs, looking solemn and oddly reassuring.

Alistair, looking less bleary eyed and grey, was trying desperately to stand straight and tall between his guards. He met her eyes unflinchingly and she saw acceptance, saw that he was willing to endure his punishment as a man and not a young, disillusioned boy. She nodded slightly to him. She could not bring herself to look for Aura or meet the concerned gazes of her Wardens. She would have trouble enough as it was. Tightening her jaws against the ache of tears, Leonie stepped down to stand between her seneschal and her second in command.

"Alistair Theirin, you stand accused of kidnapping, crimes against the Arlessa of Amaranthine's property and dereliction and desertion of duties as a Grey Warden. How plead you?" Leonie asked, her voice remarkably clear and strong. She felt far from strong, far from calm.

"Guilty," he whispered and then louder, his voice shaking slightly from the strain, "I plead guilty!"

The murmur through the crowd almost unnerved Leonie, almost took away her resolution. She could feel the sting of tears in her throat, felt the unwelcome burn of them in her eyes but resolve drove them back to stay hidden for later.

"I hereby sentence you to ten lashes of the seneschal's whip on the morrow, after which time you will be given armor and a weapon and taken to the Deep Roads, where you shall be left for a period of twelve hours. Should you survive those punishments, you shall be forgiven of all crimes and reinstated into the Grey Wardens as a brother of equal standing," Leonie said, her voice stone, her heart stone. She was a commander and an arlessa, she must be stone. Her hands began to shake and she clasped them behind her back.

"Have you anything to say in your defense, Alistair Theirin?" she asked and to her relief he shook his head. She had to finish this quickly before she gave over to the tears that persisted in plaguing her throat and eyes.

"So be it. Maker have mercy on your soul."

She turned and made her way into the keep, her knees shaking and went up the stairs as quickly as her armor would allow her. She broke two buckles and tore one of the leather bindings of a cuisse in her haste to get out of its crushing weight. Her tears were quickly turning into sobs and in her head was a constant litany of "Forgive me, Fiona, forgive me Duncan," playing continuously, beating at her conscience.

Still in her armor padding, she flung herself onto the bed and let her sobs take control of her until sleep overcame her. When she woke a short time later, Loghain was there, quietly sitting on the edge of the bed, watching her.

"I do not think I can bear an argument," she whispered thickly, her voice hoarse from her earlier tears.

"I'm not here to argue, Leonie," he assured quietly, placing one hand on her leg and squeezing it. "I came to express my admiration for your dignity and wisdom," he continued and the tears threatened again.

"Do not make me cry, Loghain, please. I cannot bear another tear," she begged and stood up on shaking legs.

"I also came to offer to perform the flogging. Varel has also offered. I know how abhorrent you find it," he added, rising to stand beside her. He didn't take her into his arms, though she could see he wanted to. She was grateful that he didn't. She had to stand on her own for now. It was the only way she would get through the ordeal ahead of her.

"Thank you, Loghain. But it is my duty. I shall perform it," she answered firmly.


	40. Chapter 40

**A/N: **_This chapter contains a depiction of a flogging and while I kept the imagery low keyed, it may be distressing to some. It is not necessary to read this to understand later chapters._

**A Light in the Darkness**

The trouble with the punishment Leonie had decided on was that she had no idea how to use a whip, other than a riding crop. After a solitary dinner in her office, she went in search of Varel, who was at his desk. He stood up immediately.

"Commander?" he asked and Leonie gave him a bleak smile.

"Varel, I have condemned a man to ten lashings tomorrow and there is a problem with my administering the punishment."

Varel's face took on a look of weary resignation. "I understand, Commander, I will perform the task," he said quietly. He had misunderstood her and she stepped closer, giving him what she hoped was a reassuring smile. She was sure it was thin on reassurance and probably wobbled at the corners, but it was a smile.

"I do not wish you to do that, Varel. I wish you to teach me how to do it. I – I have never had much use for whips and now that I need to use one, I want to be taught how to do it properly."

Varel's sigh of relief was almost audible. "As you wish, Commander," he agreed and stepped around his desk, ushering her out of the room. "The basement would be the best place to practice, there won't be anyone there."

Varel stopped in the armory and took a ring of keys out of his pocket. In a small chest was the whip used for floggings at the Vigil. It had a polished wooden handle and was of braided leather, which Varel explained was the thong. Leonie looked to see that there was only one small knot of leather at the end.

"It is very important to hold the whip correctly, Commander. If you don't do it correctly, you'll wind up flaying your own skin open or putting your eye out."

Leonie shivered, feeling slightly queasy as she picked up the whip. Varel's hand came over the top of hers and he moved her thumb to run along the handle. "Always point your thumb in the direction you want the whip to travel," he explained and she nodded, trying to remember all his instructions. "Curl your fingers around the bottom of the handle," he instructed.

"Whatever you do, Commander, follow through with the whip, don't try to pull it back or you'll find yourself wrapped in it quite painfully."

Listening with growing trepidation, Leonie finally asked him to demonstrate. Her stomach heaved unhappily and she winced instinctively when the whip hit the dusty trunk they were using for practice. She concentrated on watching his angle and finally asked to try.

"It doesn't require strength, Commander. Of course the harder you swing it, the more damage it's going to do, but I recommend an easy swing and follow through for now," Varel told her in his quiet, authoritative way.

Biting her lower lip, she wrapped her fingers around the warm, polished handle and pointed her thumb at the old trunk. She took a deep breath, willing her limbs to stop shaking. She swung the whip and allowed her arm to flow into the follow through. The snap of it, the noise as it hit the trunk seemed to shudder through the whip into her hand. Her stomach lurched.

"A little easier on the swing, Commander, and then we'll get a practice dummy. Hitting a wooden trunk is a bit different than a man."

She flinched at that, her mind refusing to focus on the images forming in her mind, taking shape from his words. She took a controlled breath and let it out. Her shaking subsided and Leonie swung the whip again. The snap was softer, the vibration less disconcerting.

"Much better," Varel praised.

Leonie spent the next hour practicing on the training dummy. She felt sweat beading on her forehead and her arm began to ache. "I believe you are ready, Commander."

Looking into Varel's calm and concerned eyes, Leonie gave him a very small smile. "I may know how to use it, Varel, but I am not sure I am ready to," she admitted softly.

"Just swing easy and the damage you inflict will be minimal," he reassured. "You should get some rest, Leonie."

Her smile grew a bit brighter and she touched his arm, squeezing it gently. "Thank you, Varel. For everything. And for finally calling me Leonie," she whispered and he let himself smile.

"As you say, Commander," he responded as he walked her back to the keep.

She made her way up to Ander's room and tapped lightly. He ushered her in, his expression unusually serious. "You look terrible," he finally said.

"Do you and Loghain get together to practice how to charm a woman with flowery compliments?" she asked, hands on her hips.

"I've actually been teaching him everything I know," Anders said with a sly grin.

"Maker preserve us!"

"Now, what brings the lovely Warden Commander to my room at this time of night?" he leered, motioning for Leonie to sit down in the only chair he had. She glanced around his room, noting the warm touches he had added, small figurines and warmly colored forest green drapes, a small rug in pale gold, the exact color of his hair when the sun caught it. A stack of books on magic sat on a low table.

"Your room is quite nice, Anders. You have a very good eye for color. Have you ever tried painting?" Leonie asked seriously.

"Eww! No. Messy," he explained fastidiously and then winked. "Actually, I'm great with color, lousy at the whole drawing thing. My talents lie elsewhere," he finished with another suggestive leer. She rolled her eyes at him.

"Now, why are you here, Lion?" he asked seriously, perching on the edge of his bed and scratching Ser Pounce who mewled plaintively and rolled onto his back, pawing at Anders' teasing fingers.

"I want you to be prepared to heal Alistair tomorrow as soon as the – the flogging is finished and he is taken back to his room," Leonie explained, choking on the words. "But be discreet, Anders, please."

Anders leaned forward and took one of her hands in both of his, rubbing it between his palms. "Consider it done, Lion. I can be discreet on occasion, don't worry. And I'll be there tomorrow, Lion. You aren't alone."

"Thank you, Anders. I do not want a large group of spectators watching this but I suspect there will be anyway. That you will be there is a great comfort."

Leonie stopped by Alistair's room, standing outside for several minutes. Was she seeking to comfort him or was she seeking absolution? With a weary sigh, she turned and retreated down the stairs, without ever answering the question, her feet taking her to Loghain's room.

Tapping softly, Leonie waited and when there was no answer, she quietly opened the door. Loghain, book settled on his chest, feet stretched out to the fire, was sleeping in the overstuffed chair by the hearth. She turned and moved to the door.

"You don't need to leave," he said gruffly, sitting up.

"I just – I am not sure why I am here," she admitted with an unhappy laugh. "I have spent all evening avoiding everyone, telling myself I have to do this on my own and then I creep in here like a lost child," she explained, her hand on the door handle.

"That's one of the fallacies of command, isn't it? Believing you have to do everything on your own?" he asked, a bitter inflection in his voice. He stood up, dropping the book on the chair as he made his way to her.

"What do you want?" he continued, his eyes probing, looking for answers that Leonie couldn't give voice to.

"What I want is hardly relevant," she responded finally, an answering bitter inflection in her voice. "As you say, that too is part of the fallacy of command. It is never about what we want, but rather what we must do."

"A hard lesson to learn," he agreed. He was close enough to her that Leonie could see the tiny flecks of gold nestled around his pupils, so often hidden in his blue eyes, could feel the heat of his breath rippling along her skin as he spoke. She closed her eyes, leaning back against the door.

"I am so tired," she whispered. She felt him press closer, just a hair's breadth away. "We fight, we tear strips off each other, we struggle to find equal footing without losing ourselves. I should hate you and you should hate me. Yet here I am, seeking your company because, as contrary as it sounds, you are the light in my darkness."

His hands were gentle on her as he lowered his lips to hers and his kiss was sweet and long, lips dancing softly against hers. An endless kiss that spoke of apologies and forgiveness and acceptance. And when it was over, when her eyes finally opened, he was smiling, a half smile that pulled at the corners of his lips.

"I can't imagine we'll ever stop fighting. You're opinionated and stubborn and I'm arrogant and stubborn. We fight for what we believe in. Would you have it any other way?" he asked and there was an intensity in the question, as if her answer was the most important thing in all of Thedas to him.

Would she? Was part of the attraction all the arguing and constant give and take? It was hard to imagine she would want that and yet she knew at some level he was right. She did not want a man who would be subservient, giving in to her without question. He stirred her blood, stirred her mind, stirred her body. But somehow, they needed to learn how to fight without opening old wounds, without making the other bleed.

"I would not," she finally answered. "But we cannot keep hurting the other on such personal levels, Loghain. We must stop inflicitng such deep wounds, yes?"

Loghain's face tightened and she reached out, a habit already born, to gently rub away the furrowed lines between his brows. "_Both_ of us, Loghain," she added more firmly and gently kissed the frowning mouth.

"Now, I shall leave you to your book."

Loghain's eyes widened in surprise but she shook her head. "I need some time to myself, to prepare for tomorrow," she explained and then smiled softly. "I love you, Loghain." And with that she slipped out the door and made her way to her room.

Going to her trunk, she sat down, legs tucked under her. She opened the lid and rummaging through the items, she found a small wooden box. Duncan's letters. All forty seven of them, each one memorized in heart and mind. She lifted them out and read each one, tears a silent witness to her sorrow.

She missed his steadying hand, his strong, quiet presence, his surprising humor, his passion. He had been her light in the darkest times of her life, had been the one to pull her out of her dark prison after Montran, had known her so well and loved her even knowing all her faults, her history. He had been witness to so much of that history, was a part of that history. Their relationship had been so different and yet the intensity of feeling had been every bit as strong. What would he think of it all, of what she had become, of what she had decided for Alistair? Would he condemn her? Forgive her? Understand it? Carefully tucking the letters back in the box, she closed the lid of her trunk.

Sleep came surprising quickly to her; a deep, dreamless sleep that left her well rested in body if not in spirit. She was just cinching the last belt of her Warden leathers when a knock at her door broke into her thoughts, chasing them away.

"Enter!" she called, expecting Varel or Loghain. She was not expecting her Wardens to file in, one by one, inspection ready.

"Lion," Nathaniel began ponderously as they all stood before her, "we know this decision wasn't easy for you and we understand how difficult it will be to carry out the punishment and we..."

"Oh Ancestor's eyeballs! What Ser Gloom is trying to say is we love you and we're with you!" Sigrun finally burst out.

The others laughed and Sigrun punched Nathaniel on the arm with an affectionate smile. Nathaniel's smile was somewhat subdued but Leonie was so touched that she couldn't speak for a moment. These too were her lights in the darkness and she gave them each her brightest smile.

"I cannot tell you how…" she began and paused to regain control of her voice. "I cannot tell you how much comfort and strength that gives me," she finished.

Loghain entered the room then and he raised an eyebrow at the assembled group. "Was there a meeting I was unaware of?" he asked somewhat stiffly and the other Wardens broke into laughter.

"We were sure you'd be here already or we'd have stopped by your room," Sigrun assured him.

Twin spots of color appeared on his cheeks and Leonie could feel the familiar heat of a blush dotting her cheeks as well. But she also noticed his rather smug smirk. She bit back a smile and before the group could descend into ribald and bawdy joking, she suggested they go to the dining hall and eat breakfast.

Of course she couldn't eat. She pushed her food around and around on her plate and finally stood. With a wan smile, she excused herself and went to her office, shutting and locking the door behind her. But she couldn't concentrate on her work either as the time seemed to crawl inexorably onward.

Sometime during the night soldiers had erected the whipping post. Varel had explained that if she wanted the whip to wrap around Alistair, she should set a mark at twenty paces but if she wanted it to flick across his skin, inflicting less damage, she should mark a spot at thirty paces. She stood at the post, with its leather straps that would hold his arms and legs in place and her mind screamed at her. They called it lashing the prisoner to the mast and she hated it. Hated it all, her mind screaming that she was just like Montran. She tried to quiet the voice. Turning, she counted out thirty paces and dug a slight pit in the ground so she would be able to find her mark easily and quickly. She went to the top of the wide steps and stood waiting.

A crowd was beginning to gather and Leonie kept her eyes carefully fixed on the distance. Varel was announcing the prisoner and she blinked, coming back to herself and then she made her way down the steps and to her mark. Varel handed her the whip.

"Alistair Theirin, do you submit yourself for your punishment?" she called out.

"Yes Warden Commander," he said in a surprisingly strong voice.

He was so young, and though his upper body was battle scarred, his broad back was a golden expanse of unmolested flesh in Leonie's eyes and she had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from crying out an order to halt the punishment. Her vision tunneled, narrowed until all she allowed herself to see was an expanse of skin. She tried to make herself believe it was just a practice dummy. She was not successful.

The first flick of the whip hit him across the back of his left shoulder. The reverberation in the handle almost made her drop the whip and the welt it left on him began oozing almost immediately. She took a deep breath, her stomach twisting and seizing, and slowly swung the whip again. With each swing of the whip, Leonie had to remind herself that she was not Montran, she was not a monster. And with each swing she believed it less and less.

By the fifth swing, she knew with certainty that she would be violently ill as soon as she was done. Her skin felt hot and clammy and there was a distant but persistent ringing in her ears. His back was a crisscross of shallow gashes, each bleeding; slow rivulets of blood that wept at their torment, seemed to cry her name in accusation. _Montran,_ it whispered.

Alistair was stoically silent until the ninth strike. A long, distressed groan came from him and it seemed to scream at her in condemnation, a tortured sound, searing her soul. Leonie nearly lost her grip on the handle and her muscles began to quiver. The voice in her head was louder. _Montran!_ it shouted.

As soon as the tenth had struck him, she quietly handed the whip to Varel and nodded for the guards to untie Alistair. Somehow she found her voice. "So ends this punishment. The prisoner shall report to the cellar entrance to the Deep Roads in three hours. Maker guide his steps."

Leonie barely made it to her room before her stomach finally lost its battle. What little she ate, along with dark, bitter bile rose rebelliously and she was shaking like a leaf in a hurricane. Once her stomach settled, she sat on the floor, rocking back and forth, trying desperately to get the image of scored flesh out of her mind's eye, a low moan that she couldn't seem to stop, the only sound in her room.

Distantly, she heard Anders talking to her and she looked at him, muzzy and confused. "Anders?" she finally managed in a croak.

"He's fine, Lion. He came through it fine," Anders was reassuring and for just a split second, she couldn't understand who he was talking about. "Just the one deep one, all the rest won't even scar all that much," he assured her. The deep one. The ninth lash that had made him groan because her adrenaline had made her hit him too hard, she had swung the whip too strongly. The one that screamed at her accusingly that she was Montran.

"I've healed him and put a thick paste on his back so his armor won't irritate the wounds."

"Thank you, Anders," she mumbled and then was sick again, weak tears blurring her vision. He found a cloth and poured water on it before cooling it with a spell. He put it along the nape of her neck, urging her to keep her head bent and just concentrate on breathing. Time passed slowly as she relived each swing of the whip. She could no longer believe she was not that monster.

Loghain was there and she couldn't remember when he had arrived, but he sat down on the cool floor beside her. She blinked. Anders was gone.

"I have become the monster I hated, have I not?" she whispered bitterly and felt his arm snake around her, pulling her close.

"You're not that monster, Leonie. You are **not** Montran," he responded gruffly and finally the awful miasma of self loathing and guilt began to lift and she came back to herself. He was her light in the darkness, bringing her back to herself.

She was waiting at the barrier doors in the cellars when the guards brought Alistair in. He was wearing heavy plate armor and a standard issue sword was strapped to his back. She pulled out her sword and offered it to him.

"This was a gift from Riordan. It's well balanced and should serve you well," she explained as he took it. He tested the grip and the balance before nodding a silent thanks.

He was pale and tension was radiating from him, but there was a light in his eyes; a light of determination that would hopefully serve him well in the darkness to come. She felt a stirring of hope, of optimism that he would endure his twelve hours and be the better man for it.

"May Andraste herself be your guardian, Warden," she said and the barrier doors began to grind and clank as they slowly opened. "I shall be here when you return," she added as he stepped through the series of doors and disappeared into the dark.

Twelve hours? What had she been thinking? She should have made it four, surely that would have been acceptable? She made her way to her office and found she couldn't concentrate. She went to the kitchens to find something to eat but found she wasn't hungry. She went up to the ramparts, watched as the first stars made an appearance and the evening wind began to calm, as if in preparation for slumber. She found herself returning over and over to the cellar, anxious and pacing like a restless cat.

"You won't make the time go any faster by starving yourself and wearing grooves in the floor," Loghain reproved sagaciously. She glared at him.

"There are times, Loghain Mac Tir, when I find myself wishing to box your ears. Now is just such a time," she replied huffily, turning to resume her pacing. He caught her up in his arms and held her still.

"Eat, Leonie. You're going to make yourself sick," he said and she leaned against him for just a moment, drawing his strength to her.

"Later," she said and with a soft sigh, she stepped out of the comfort of his arms and went back to the cellar.

She wondered, as she sat there waiting, if she and her fellow Wardens could be Alistair's light in the darkness, if somehow they could guide him to a more peaceful place, a happier time. She would like to believe that she could be a light for him.

Varel came to announce the time and she nearly shouted with impatience as the mechanisms began to whir and each door unhurriedly began to open. Her heart was in her throat and beating wildly like the wings of a hummingbird. He had to be there, he had to be safe. She wouldn't believe otherwise. She picked up her torch and started forward.

In the distance, a small point of light, a torch reflecting off armor, moving slowly closer. Leonie found herself hurrying to meet it. Alistair, his armor streak with the black blood of the darkspawn, came into view. And there was a new light in his eyes. She moved to stand before him and he looked down at her with a triumphant smile, a smile of a man who had found himself again.

"Welcome home, brother," Leonie greeted.


	41. Chapter 41

**Redemption and Remembrances **

Loghain was asleep when she finally made her way to his room, red wrapper cinched around her waist, hair damp from her bath. His room was dark, just the soft glow of the dying fire guiding her to his bed and she slipped her wrapper off and slid in beside him. He stirred and gave her a groggy, sleep laden greeting and she curled up beside him. Morning would come soon enough but for a few brief hours, she allowed herself to finally relax.

He grumbled about her cold feet and she smiled against his skin, running her foot along his leg. He growled and swatted at her. "Did your parents never discipline you as a child?" he grumbled, turning on his back and opening his arms. She moved to lay her head on his chest and he folded his arms around her.

"There was no need. I was a very well behaved child," she replied with conviction, letting her fingers swirl small circles along his chest.

"I find that impossible to believe," he muttered.

"Shall I tell you of my perfect childhood? Tales of me sitting and doing my lessons faithfully?" she inquired, dropping feathery light kisses in the wake of her fingers.

"Yes, and no doubt rescuing babies and knitting stockings for the poor," he agreed sardonically and then sighed contentedly as her lips found his neck. He turned his head and caught her lips with his. She gave them willingly, her hands continuing their languid exploration.

"But of course, Loghain. All while wearing immaculate white muslin frocks, my hair in perfect ringlets, nary a smudge to be seen."

"Are all Orlesians prone to such lies and exaggerations?" he asked, his voice deeper as her lips began to explore the scar along his torso. She heard his bread catch as she flicked at his skin with her tongue.

"Are all Fereldans so skeptical?" she countered, nipping the sensitive skin along his hipbone.

"Practical, not skeptical," he corrected and then groaned as she moved lower still. His hands stilled on her shoulders as she ran her tongue along his length. She stopped suddenly and moved up his body with feline grace, resting her chin on his chest. He opened an eye, a wary look residing in it.

"I should not do such things, yes? You will only continue to find fault with my bad behavior," she purred, eyes wide with feigned innocence.

"Madam, I assure you I was finding no fault with your behavior," he rumbled, rolling them over and settling Leonie under him as he rested his weight on his palms. His lips found hers in a fiery kiss that left her breathless. She pulled him down for another. The sweet, hot ache that had started as a flutter in her blood, became a surge as he moved against her and then slowly entered her. He kissed along her jaw and down her neck, biting lightly at the curve where her neck and shoulder joined before he thrust into her, pulling her higher and higher.

"I love you," she moaned as she felt him moving within her. He growled as he continued to plunge into her and her hips were moving to meet his and they were both flying over the edge, their voices mingled, limbs entwined, hearts merged.

Morning came too quickly for Leonie. She opened one eye and blearily looked at the vacant spot where Loghain had slept, his pillow still indented where his head had rested. She sighed and stretched sore muscles, drowsy and content as she remembered the reason for her sore muscles. She was just drifting back to sleep when an urgent knocking brought her bolt upright.

"Yes?" she called, pulling the blankets around her.

"Commander, I suggest you put in an appearance sooner rather than later. Two of your Wardens are about to come to blows," Varel said through the door and she was up and slipping into her wrapper before he finished.

"Where?" she asked, stepping in the hall and striding toward her room.

"The dining hall."

"I will be there in five minutes, try to keep them from killing each other," she instructed, needing no names to know who the two Wardens were. She silently reprimanded herself for sleeping in.

Slipping into her Warden tunic and breeches, she hurriedly ran a brush through her tangled curls and then found her socks and boots, tugging them on anxiously. She went sailing down the stairs and just before she entered the dining hall, she took a deep, steadying breath.

Loghain and Alistair were squaring off. Loghain, haughty and cold, had his hand on the pommel of his weapon. Alistair, looking mulish and angry, was removing his gauntlets. They were no longer arguing but instead sizing each other up. She was reminded of Perot and another younger boy named Hercule who used to square off much like the two men, just before they started punching each other in a wild free-for-all.

"Good morning, Wardens," Leonie said with hearty good cheer, stepping into the room with a smile. There were murmured replies but not from Loghain or Alistair.

"It occurs to me that I may have neglected a very important bit of information regarding Grey Wardens. Let me just remind you all now, yes?" Leonie continued nonchalantly. Loghain scowled but he crossed his arms and stared at her. Alistair nodded tightly.

"When a Warden joins our ranks, all their past deeds are killed by the taint. No matter what those deeds were, they no longer matter. There are murderers, thieves, apostates, and malificar among our ranks but none of that matters once the poisoned blood has been taken into us," she explained, her tone gently chiding. "We do not fight over past misdeeds, we simply do not allow them to become important." No one spoke.

"Do you understand?" She finished, surveying each Warden. All save Loghain and Alistair nodded.

"Loghain?" she prompted.

"Yes, Commander," he bit out, cold and angry.

"And you Warden Alistair? Did Duncan not teach you this?"

Alistair's face paled. "Yes, Warden Commander," he muttered and dropped his eyes.

"Then I see no need to discuss this further," she said with a slight nod as she went to fill her plate.

"Nathaniel, please take Tamra and Sigrun to the training yard. I want you to assess their skills with a bow and help them improve in those areas they are weakest, yes?"

"Of course, Lion."

"Anders, please find Aura and help her take inventory of the infirmary. Mistress Lillith will be here today and I want to ensure our infirmary is fully stocked."

"No problem, fearless leader," Anders said.

Sighing, Leonie took a sip of her tea. "Loghain, you are dismissed. I will speak to you later about the scouting parties," she said with a curt nod. His back was rigid with disapproval but he spun on his heel and left.

"Sit down Alistair," she instructed and when he didn't move, she added, "That was not a request, Warden."

Alistair sat down across from her as she began to speak. "I know that you and Loghain have a great hatred for each other. I am sure you both feel justified in this mutual hatred of one another. However, I will not allow my Wardens to fight like common thugs over a past that is erased the moment that a person becomes a Warden."

She raised her eyes to study Alistair as he digested the information. He was angry. He ran an agitated hand through his burnished gold hair. "Do you know how Duncan became a Grey Warden?" she asked finally.

"No, I never got the chance to ask," he said and she saw the anguish in his eyes then, the grief and despair. She reached out a hand and placed it over his briefly.

"He was a thief and pickpocket in Val Royeaux. He broke into a hotel room one night, intent on robbery. The man whose room it was came back and caught him. Duncan had a ring he had found and was determined not to return it. The man was equally determined to reclaim his property. They fought and Duncan killed the man.

"Just before his execution the Grey Warden Commander, Lady Genevieve, conscripted him. According to Riordan, Duncan was extremely angry. You see the man that Duncan had killed was also a Grey Warden and as he lay dying, he thanked Duncan for his death."

Leonie paused, continuing to watch Alistair, whose expression had gone from disbelief to fascination and back to disbelief.

"Poor Duncan. He tried to escape several times. He did not want to be in an Order where people were happy to be killed. I think it was Riordan who finally convinced him to accept the inevitable."

"I don't believe you. Duncan was a good man, an honest man," Alistair said and the uncertainty in his voice touched Leonie.

"Duncan was the finest man I have ever known. He was a good man, an honest man, because he was allowed to be, he was allowed to leave his past behind and forge a new beginning. Allowed to become what he had always been within his heart. He referred to his Joining as his redemption."

Alistair's confusion was evident. He wanted to believe, but he had held onto his hate for Loghain and his grief for Duncan for nearly two years and she didn't expect it to go away overnight. She wasn't sure it would ever go away, but she had to at least try to help him heal.

"He was very happy when he conscripted you. It is no small thing to conscript out from under the Grand Cleric. He saw what was within your heart and believed in you, much as Genevieve saw what was within Duncan's heart and believed in him."

Alistair shook his head, his grief masking as hate. "Loghain killed him. He deserted the battlefield and then when he found out there were two Grey Wardens alive he tried to have us killed! He nearly lost Ferelden to the Blight!" the young man cried, pounding the table to emphasize his words.

"And what of you, Alistair? Did you not desert your fellow Warden? Try to kill Loghain?" she asked gently.

"I – I – no! It isn't the same!" he argued heatedly and Leonie shook her head.

"That is not really my point. I was not there and if it were up to me I would not have this discussion with either of you because I do believe a person can rise above his past, to redeem himself. As Duncan did, so can you and Loghain. The choice is, ultimately yours," she suggested firmly but kindly. "But I ask you to think on this. Loghain did many of the things he did in his blind need to protect his nation and while I do not defend any of his actions, neither do I condemn them all. Nor do I condemn you for allowing your bitterness, your hatred, to overcome your oath and leave Surana to face the Archdemon without your aid."

"How can you sleep with him knowing he quit the field and Duncan died because of it? Maker's breath, the man sold Fereldans into slavery, he started a civil war, he allowed Rendon Howe to kill and torture!"

Leonie felt the color drain from her face, felt her stomach roil. "How I conduct my private life is my own concern, Alistair. We are discussing two Wardens who cannot find a common ground upon which to walk. We are discussing your need to find atonement and redemption so that you can forgive others or at least move past the anger and grief which has such a tight hold on you."

"Right, because clearly Loghain has done that. Or at least convinced you he has," Alistair said sarcastically.

Leonie stood up and leaned across the table, palms flat, voice deathly quiet. "Your grief has tainted you far worse than the blood of the darkspawn, Alistair. How can you not see that Duncan would not want that?" she asked him and Alistair flushed, unable to meet her eyes.

"You hold on to your anger because you feel lost without it," she added and then pushed away from the table.

"Stay here, I shall return in a moment," she ordered and went upstairs to retrieve her box of letters. She took the last one Duncan had sent her and made her way back to the dining hall where Alistair was slumped at the table, head resting in his hands.

She came and sat beside him, carefully putting an arm around his bowed shoulders. "You think that I do not remember Duncan? That I have forsaken what I felt for him to sleep with his enemy. But it is you that does not remember Duncan. You see that which you lost, not that which you had," she said quietly.

"I miss him," the young man whispered brokenly. "He was the only family who ever cared about me," he continued and the anger began to leak out of him in small choked sounds. She squeezed his shoulder.

"Of course you do. I do as well. Every day. I try to honor his memory by living as he would want me to. By following his example and being the very best Grey Warden I can be, even when I do not wish to do so. We honor the sacrifice of our brothers, Alistair," she reminded him with gentle persuasion.

"I will remind you as well, Warden, that one of our credos is to do whatever it takes to successfully protect all people from the darkspawn, to stop a Blight. _Whatever it takes, no matter the cost_. Perhaps I understand a bit of Loghain's motivation in doing the same thing to a degree. I do not condone it, I understand it. Do you see the difference?" she asked, studying him. He nodded reluctantly.

"Do you know that in his last letter to me, Duncan spoke of you?" she asked after several moments of silence.

"He did?" Alistair asked in surprise. His eyes widened and he looked young and innocent and unsure.

"Most assuredly. Did you also know that he came to see me that last time because he knew his Calling was approaching? He wanted to say goodbye to me. He was not abandoning you for me, he was saying goodbye," she whispered and felt the tears tickling at the back of her throat.

"Shall I read to you from his last letter?" she asked softly. Alistair looked at her and nodded once.

Leonie took a deep breath, trying to keep her own emotions in check as she read from Duncan's last letter, focusing only on what he had written about Alistair, omitting any mention of Fiona. But as hard as she tried to keep her tears at bay, a few found their way down her cheeks, stubbornly refusing to obey her command to stop. She closed her eyes, remembering her beloved Rivaini pirate and the tears continued, unabashed.

Alistair put his head down and cried then, heartbreaking sounds that only made her tears fall more freely. "He loved you, Alistair. Remember him, remember that, honor his sacrifice but you must let go of the hate and anger. Only then can you find true forgiveness and redemption," she offered kindly and stood up.

"I would like you to go out and find a young soldier named Alec and work with him. He has the potential to be a great soldier but he needs shield training. I heard from a reliable source that you are quite good with a shield," she instructed and quietly left the dining hall.

Loghain was in his office, standing at the window, his hands clasped behind his back. His face wore the lines of bitterness and regret, but no anger.

"Has the little _princeling _told you what a cold, ruthless bastard I am?" he asked without turning to look at her.

"You want me to say yes and then castigate you, do you not? I will not do that, Loghain. I see you do that to yourself every day. I will not help you in the endeavor."

Leonie walked slowly to him and placed a hand over his clasped hands. "You torture yourself every bit as much as Alistair tortures himself. You have yet to find your own redemption, I think."

"Don't," he began and his voice was thick and rough. "You don't know me," he growled.

"Do I not? Can you tell me you do not have a heart that is full of regret and hurt? Can you tell me you do not harbor bitterness and self recrimination?"

"You know nothing about my past," he glowered, leaning his forehead against the window pane.

"Have I not explained that as a Grey Warden you do not have a past that matters any longer?" she returned with a raised brow.

"I wanted to die, to kill the Archdemon to atone for all that I had done," he began, his voice weary and bleak. "Surana wouldn't agree. Do you know why?"

"No," she answered softly, her heart aching for him.

"He said Ferelden needed a trusted hero, that the people would never accept a mage or an elf as a hero, that I could do more good alive than dead," he said, and each word was like a knife wound to him. He seemed remote, as cool and hard as marble. "I would have gladly died. I welcomed death," he said softly.

"Will you never forgive yourself, Loghain? Will you never allow yourself to do so?" she whispered, moving her hand from his to gently brush back his hair, to stroke his brow, to offer him an anchor.

"I don't know how you can forgive me," he began and shook his head, moving away from her touch. She understood then that he did so because he didn't feel he deserved it. She stepped closer again, pulling at him, forcing him to turn to her and she caressed his cheek, her tears beginning again.

"I love you, Loghain. I forgave you because I understand you felt compelled to do whatever was necessary, no matter the cost, to protect your country. And because I believe that your past is less important than your present, than the future. Your past died when you drank the blood of the darkspawn and became a brother. It is you who cannot forgive yourself, not I."

He ran his hands up her arms, to rest on her shoulders. "How?" he asked, searching for an answer in her eyes. "How do I do that after so many years?"

"We have had this talk before, Loghain, and I do not know. I only know that you must, that you must accept that the past is behind us and we cannot change it. I have told you before that it is like a river, yes? Remember the past, if you wish, but do not continually relive it and hate yourself each time you do. Look forward, know that you are a good man _now_, whatever you may believe you were in the past. _Now_ is what matters," she urged.

He closed his eyes then, and gently pulled her closer. "You are relentless," he finally growled and she heard a hint of amusement in his voice.

"I believe you have mentioned that a time or two," she retorted with a chuckle. Silence again, less fraught with hazards, settled between them. But there was something else she felt was important to say and she braced herself.

"I wish to ask something, Loghain. I do not need an answer and I do not ask this to cause feelings to harden between us," she began and saw him smirk.

"Oh what have I said incorrectly now?" she huffed, recognizing that particular smirk.

"Hard feelings," he corrected and she rolled her eyes in exasperation.

"Yes, very well. I do not wish to cause _hard feelings_ between us. I ask not with malice or anger, or a desire to hurt you, Loghain. You belittle Alistair at every opportunity and are very angry with him and I cannot understand why. You cannot possibly know him that well. So I must wonder, is it really Alistair, or is it Maric's betrayal of Rowan that causes this anger?"

She held her breath, sure he would explode into the same anger she had seen the last time Rowan's name came up but he didn't. He looked puzzled for a moment and then said, "I'm glad you don't require an answer," in a pensive voice.

Leonie finally pulled away, reluctantly, and went to the door connecting their offices. "I suppose Varel has left a stack of paperwork on my desk. I would rather go back to bed and sleep longer, someone kept me awake too late," she said over her shoulder and heard his snort of amusement as she closed the door behind her.

Leonie was not naive enough to believe either of the men would suddenly forgive or forget. She didn't believe for a moment that they would become fast friends. But for now she felt she had done what she could to foster at least a fragile peace between them. What happened next was up to them. And she had talked with Loghain several times about the need to forgive himself, she couldn't imagine that would happen any time soon either. She rubbed her forehead, wondering if anyone would notice if she snuck up to her room and took a nap.

Instead, she found her way to the training yard and watched from a distance as Alistair instructed Alec and a growing number of other soldiers on the use of shields. It was then that she saw what Duncan had seen in him. He was graceful and powerful as he swung shield and sword, his face determined and kind as he stopped to show the others a particular technique. Boyish and charming as he talked with the others. If he could overcome his anger and grief, he would be a wonderful addition to the Warden ranks. She glanced around and saw Loghain standing at his window. He was watching Alistair, a slight frown on his face.

Two hours later her Wardens met in her office to discuss the hunt for the Architect. Nathaniel and Loghain had found several points of interest on the map that seemed likely spots to investigate. Loghain and Alistair sat on opposite sides of the room and didn't look at each other during the hour long meeting. But they both participated in the discussion and that was a start.

"Alistair and Nathaniel will come with me. Anders, Tamra and Sigrun will accompany you. We shall leave tomorrow morning and be back the following afternoon," Leonie instructed and then dismissed them.

She went up to her room immediately after dinner, packing for the overnight trip. Earlier in the day she had stopped by the infirmary to pick up additional bandages, poultices and potions as her group would have no healer.

Loghain came to see her, unusually subdued. He didn't argue about the team composition and that was a surprise. She had spent quite some time planning her rebuttal. Instead he began to undress her and then pulled her onto the bed, his lips softly persistent. She was more than willing to comply with their demands.

That night the Architect paid her a visit in the Fade.


	42. Chapter 42

**It is Time**

"_It is time, Leonie. You will come to me now. You are ready."_

_She was standing in the square in Amaranthine, alone and wearing her heavy armor, her sword and dagger sheathed, the wind whipping and tugging at her cloak. The clouds overhead were crimson, reflecting the fires that burned all around the city. __Flames crackled merrily along the edges of the buildings, dancing with delight as they devoured the structures, one by one. Leonie watched helplessly, screaming her rage as the air continued to thicken with the dark, acrid smoke._

_A ghostly white shape caught her eye. Armor gleaming red now as the fires moved closer. She walked slowly toward the body that lay prone and unmoving beneath a large pine. Her heart froze in her chest, her limbs stilled, refusing to carry her closer. Loghain, pale and unmoving, eyes staring at the sky, unblinking and lifeless. _

"_What have you done?" she whispered and her voice echoed in the emptiness. "What have you done?" she screamed and the silence that answered her was complete. She fell beside Loghain, pulling him into her arms, tried to will him back to life, weeping, shaking him, begging him to come back to her. He remained lifeless in hr arms. _

"_Come, Leonie. You know where to find me," the Architect crooned and he was there, beckoning to her. "We have waited long enough," he chided tenderly._

_Leonie was running then, seeking a way out of the maze of smoke and burning buildings, searching for her Wardens, for the city guard, for anyone, but she was alone and as the full horror of it hit her, she heard the Architect, calling to her._

_She screamed then as she realized that she was alone with her tormenter. _

Hands were shaking her shoulders, a voice commanding her to wake up. A familiar voice calling to her, guiding her back to herself, to reality. Loghain. She blinked and nodded, unable to speak, her words still caught in the nightmare.

"It's alright, Leonie," he kept saying and she nodded again, but he continued and it slowly came to her that he was reassuring himself as much as he was trying to calm her. The room was bathed in the soft, flickering light of the lamp he had lit. It should have reassured her. It did not.

"It is time," she finally managed, her voice raspy and hoarse. "The Architect. He says it is time," she heard herself saying in a voice she barely recognized. She was shaking, unable to get warm, even with Loghain's arms around her. Her blood, she realized, her blood was too cold.

Loghain held her closer, pulling the blankets around them as he waited for her to continue. She slowly related her dream, her voice quivering with emotion, but she refused to tell him that she had seen his death. She refused to give voice to it, lest it become true.

"I hate this, I hate _him_. If it is time, I will finish this," she vowed and pushed herself out of Loghain's arms, crawling out of bed.

"Leonie, it's the middle of the night. You can't do anything now," Loghain said, his voice reasonable and faintly chiding.

"I do not want this…this...this _thing_ that connects us! I do not want it anymore," Leonie fretted, struggling with her armor. She swore at an uncooperative binding and threw the greave across the room where it gave an accusing clang as it hit the wall and clattered to the floor. "I do not want it," she whispered, sinking down to the floor. She buried her face in her hands, trying to blot out the sight that had burned into her brain. She would **not** let Loghain die.

"Come back to bed, Leonie," Loghain encouraged gently, reaching down to help her to her feet and she went into his outstretched arms. He swept her up and carried her back to bed.

"I must go and find him before he finds me," she whispered into his neck. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply.

Panic and fear were slowly receding as she rested in his arms and as those emotions receded, she realized how exhausted she was. Her limbs felt weighted and her eyelids refused to stay open. She blinked drowsily.

"We'll find him, Leonie," Loghain reassured her and she could hear the conviction in his voice, knew he believed it. If only she did.

"**I** will find him. It is me he wants. I will not risk anyone else," Leonie murmured and felt her eyes closing as she relaxed against Loghain's solid warmth.

"I love you," she breathed against his chest and drifted back to sleep.

Morning found her still wrapped tightly in Loghain's arms. He was watching her intently. "Do not tell me I was snoring, I will not believe you," she mumbled against him, not quite smothering a yawn.

"I'm sure that anyone passing by would corroborate my assertion," he replied dryly.

"You are a shameless liar, Loghain Mac Tir," she retorted, reaching up and kissing him lightly. "And I love you, but I will not believe your claim that I snore."

"Not believing does not make it any less true."

For those few minutes Leonie was able to forget the dream, the fear. Nestled in his arms, listening to his voice as it rumbled through his chest, she was just Leonie Caron, a woman who loved and was loved. A wonderful make-believe world where there were no monsters, no duties, just the endless beat of two hearts.

Reality came creeping in as dank and thick as a marsh mist. "I need to prepare," she said and slid out of bed.

Loghain's practiced fingers helped her buckle into her armor. She allowed herself the comfort of his touch but as soon as she was buckled into her armor she went to her weapon stand. She had given Alistair the sword she normally carried and she would not take it back now. It had seemed to give him confidence.

She pulled out a beautifully made sword, the pommel in the shape of a lion's head. The guard was curled like a lion's tail and the grip, shagreen leather, had been made for her hand, as comfortable and reassuring as a pair of old gloves. The balance was perfect and she held it out, inspecting the blade. Oiled and free of nicks, she took out its scabbard and strapped it on. The sword hissed along the leather as it settled into place.

"That's quite a sword," Loghain commented admiringly.

"I have not used her since my duel, but she was made for my hand by Celene's own swordsmith. Her name is Lionheart," Leonie said and then shot him a faintly embarrassed smile. "And we shall keep that name to ourselves, yes?"

Loghain bit back a smirk. "As you wish, Commander," he replied but the smirk was playing tag with his lips and she poked him in that spot that always made him yelp. He squirmed away with a yelp and then a frown.

"Insolent chit," he muttered, rubbing his side.

"Insufferable man," she replied with an unrepentant smile. She fastened her gauntlets to her belt and picked up her pack.

They went to Loghain's room so she could help him into his armor. She watched with an appreciative eye as he stripped to his smalls and began to pull on his thick padding. He had the longest, most deliciously well formed legs she had ever seen; muscles well defined, the curve of his calf begging for her fingers to trace along it, well toned thighs that spoke of years as a warrior. She was sorry to see the padding cover them and moved to his side. As she buckled him into his armor, she shared her plan with Loghain.

"Alistair, Nathaniel and I shall leave as planned. I need you to stay here and prepare the Vigil. If we are in the middle of a war between the two darkspawn factions I expect an attack here as soon as the Architect knows we are coming for him."

Loghain's head whipped around, his frown so fierce she instinctively stepped back, her hands falling away from the pauldron she had been buckling. "Absolutely not," he said tersely.

"Loghain, you know this to be the wisest course…" she began but he cut her off.

"No, I will not stay behind while you go off to face the Architect. I will not," he said forcefully, the resolve so strong in his voice that Leonie fell silent for long moments.

"My dearest man, I do not choose this course because I am foolish. I choose it because it is the most sensible," she began tenderly, her fingers reaching out to smooth away his frown.

"Do not see this decision through the eyes of a lover, Loghain. See it through the eyes of a general. You will see that it is the only possible choice."

Loghain's frown deepened. "You expect me to capitulate just like that? Because you think it is sensible?" he asked, incredulous. "There is nothing sensible about you running off to throw yourself at that darkspawn creature with no one else at your side but that bastard whelp and an archer," he continued vehemently. "Maker, _we_ should at least take Anders."

"It is perhaps more sensible to continue to let him control my dreams? To hold such power over my life? To allow him to carry on experiments that will only bring about more sentient darkspawn, more attacks? This must end. He said it himself, Loghain. It is time," Leonie countered resolutely.

"And," she continued with a calm rationality that surprised even her, "Alistair is an excellent shield warrior with templar training. The Architect is an emissary with powers that Alistair can offset with those abilities. And we both know that there is not another person more deadly with a bow than Nathaniel. Furthermore, I will not take the only mage healer we have when he can do the most good here. I have enough supplies to see us through, Loghain."

His jaw was clenched stubbornly and he was quiet for some time. Leonie let out a soft hum of disquiet. "Loghain, you are the greatest tactician, the most brilliant strategist of our time. We both know this, yes? Where else should you be but guiding the forces here at the Vigil?"

"By your side," he growled but with less ferocity. She was right, and she watched as the emotions played across his face, so unguarded in those few moments that she saw all of them clearly. A battle raged within him and she stood silent, keenly aware of his feelings. She felt many of them herself. As she continued to watch him, she saw resignation flare in his eyes and then felt a cold wall between them. He was moving away, protecting himself, an almost physical barrier now in place. Dismayed, she stepped back.

"As you wish, Commander," he said with stiff formality.

_Please, please do not shut me out now, Loghain_. But she held her tongue, trying to marshall her own emotions, afraid to make it more difficult for him. He was in pain. She could almost feel it as her own and she remembered standing at the border, feeling much the same pain as she waited for permission to enter Ferelden and ride to Duncan's aid. There were no words she could speak to lift that pain but she felt compelled to try. She could not leave with the cold, stone wall standing between them.

"I love you, Loghain Mac Tir. I will come back," she said with such conviction that for a flash of time, he believed her.

"I love you, Leonie," he whispered and then the wall was up again, as if the cost of that admission had been too high.

They left his room, moving quietly down the stairs, neither speaking nor touching. Leonie felt the loss deeply but kept her hands at her side, not wanting to break the barriers he felt he had to erect. She stopped in her office and sat at her desk, quill in hand.

_Fiona,_

_Alistair is here with us at Vigil's Keep. He is a lost and bitter young man and could very much use the guidance of his mother. I urge you to consider this carefully. He needs you, Fiona, if he is ever truly to heal._

_I have had another dream and the Architect has declared it is time for he and I to come together. I will do my utmost to kill him and when I do, I will gather as much of his blood as I can and have it sent to you at the fortress. If something happens to me I will instruct my men to gather as much of my blood as they can and send it to you. It is a comforting thought to know some good could come of my death, should it occur. Naturally I hope that is not the case._

_I close this with one last request, Fiona. Give your son something to believe in again. _

_Vigilance, Sister._

_Leonie Caron  
Warden Commander of the Grey of Ferelden_

Leonie gave the letter to Varel and with it, a warm smile. "You have been my rock, Varel. Never doubt that I hold you in very high esteem," she said and swooped forward, planting a quick kiss on his cheek, which was growing ruddier by the second.

"You'll return, Commander. You're too stubborn not to," he responded with a smile that contained all the pride of a father. A sting of tears and she was moving again, striding along the corridor to the dining hall and he moved toward the throne room.

She never made it to the dining hall. A commotion in the throne room caught her attention and she found herself heading in that direction instead. Two guards stood before Varel, a young elf between them. A young elf that was panting, bright red and sweating. A messenger.

"Commander, this elf claims to be sent by Bann Delilah. Amaranthine is under attack by darkspawn," Varel said, his steadfast calm helping Leonie's sudden rise of fear to subside.

"Then our path is clear, yes? Gather the Wardens, Varel."

While she waited, she asked the elf, "Do you know how many darkspawn are attacking? Or from which direction they came?"

"Not more than two hundred, near as I could see, Commander. Not sure what direction they came from but they broke through the eastern gate."

By now her Wardens had gathered and Leonie quickly informed them of the news. Nathaniel's distress was immediate and acute.

"We have to go! Now!" he exclaimed urgently.

"Yes, you and Alistair are with me. Garavel, I want twenty support troops with us," she continued and the captain nodded.

"Varel, Loghain will be in charge during my absence. I want all the families outside the gates of the Vigil to be brought inside immediately.

"Anders, ensure the infirmary is prepared for the injured. Aura is a capable nurse, if she can stomach it in her condition. Check with Garavel to see who else has nursing experience."

She paused, catching her breath, looking at her Wardens through misty eyes. Her Wardens. Her brothers and sisters, standing with complete faith in her shining in their eyes. She loved them all, none more than the taciturn general who tried so hard not to allow himself to care. She wondered when, or if, he would admit he already did. There he stood, distant and remote because he cared too deeply.

Sigrun broke ranks and came to Leonie. "May the stone of the Ancestors protect you," the young dwarf said, her tone uncharacteristically somber. Then she flashed her trademark perky grin. "And kick those darkspawn in their bony arses!" Leonie laughed and gave the young dwarf a smile of thanks. Sigrun had broken the tense silence.

"We shall be toasting their deaths in no time, my friend," Leonie assured her and bent low to hug the young woman who flushed and stammered and stepped back into formation.

"If you get into trouble, Lion, don't forget your secret weapon," Anders teased, grinning. He chomped at an imaginary enemy with his teeth and Leonie grinned. "And hurry back!" he added, stepping over to swallow her in a bear hug.

"Of course, Anders. You still owe us six more escape stories, do you not?" she teased and then whispered, "Keep him safe, please," and felt Anders nod before releasing her and stepping back.

"Tamra, do not worry about Nathaniel. I shall bring him back to you as soon as possible, yes?"

"I know you will, Leonie. I have absolute faith in you," Tamra said confidently and that confidence bolstered Leonie's spirits.

Loghain, proud and aloof, moved forward only slightly, as if the effort to do so at all was too great. "You two men try to keep her from launching herself at ogres," he said gruffly.

Alistair spoke then, his voice cool and surprisingly calm. "Don't worry, I'll protect her." He looked at Loghain then, his eyes narrowed. "But not for you," he added coldly. "For Duncan." At that, he turned and went out the doors to wait for her. Leonie winced and looked at Loghain, who had paled but said nothing.

Nathaniel went to Tamra and took her into his arms, whispering something that made the young woman blush, before he kissed her and stepped back. Leonie felt tears sting her eyes but blinked rapidly. It would do no one any good to see their commander bawling.

She turned to Loghain, still standing stiffly apart from the others. There were so many things she wanted to say, so many things trapped in her heart, blocked by the threat of her tears. He met her eyes and for a hopeful moment, she thought he might unbend. Instead, she saw his hands clench into fists and he took a deep breath.

"You'd best get started. It's a long walk," he said coolly.

Disappointment swelling in her, Leonie nodded and with another look at her Wardens, she turned and went to join Nathaniel and Alistair. They made their way down the broad steps and headed for the gates of the Vigil. Leonie paused, glancing over her shoulder for one last look at her Wardens, at her home. Tears formed again, a thick knot in her throat. Loghain was making his way down the steps, toward her and she spun on her heel, hurrying to meet him halfway.

"It seems I've become accustomed to the sound of your snoring. I doubt I'll be able to sleep without it," he said and the dryness of his tone did not quite hide the tenderness that floated beneath it.

Leonie's heart sped up and she stepped closer to him. "Then I must make haste, yes? For I cannot sleep without my dear Loghain beside me," she responded with a soft smile.

She brushed his hair back from his forehead and he captured her hand, bringing it to his lips.

"I love you."


	43. Chapter 43

**In the Shadow of Fear**

A watery yellow sun was slowly becoming obscured by the pungent, acrid smoke that was forming a grey haze. The air was as still and heavy as the fear in her heart. She fought the need to turn and look back at the Vigil. She must press forward, she told herself, but she felt her fear was larger and more commanding than any other emotion and she was silent for the first hour of their journey. She spent the time quietly fighting the shadow of fear that threatened to take her control and resolve from her.

Leonie finally began explaining to Alistair about the sentient darkspawn and the Architect, the need to quiet the urgency of her fear prompting her. His response, after a shiver, was a drawn out, "Creepy." But he followed that remark with questions about the best method for fighting them. He was attentive and she could feel his excitement and fear in his questions.

"Of all the days for the wind not to be blowing," Nathaniel sighed, rubbing at his smarting eyes. It was the first time he had spoken since they left the Vigil. They were nearing Amaranthine and the air was denser, heavier. A cloud that clung to their clothes and hair, made their eyes water and sting.

The twenty support soldiers were coughing and complaining about the smoke as they entered the outskirts of the city. Leonie was relieved to see that the refugee camp was deserted but less than pleased when she saw ex-Constable Aidan standing at the gates, stopping anyone who approached. The gates were shut and he was surrounded by more than a dozen city guards.

"I was told Biddows was now the constable of Amaranthine. What are you doing here?" Leonie asked coldly, coming to stand in front of the man. He gave her an insolent look and shrugged.

"Killed in the attack. I'm in charge now," he replied with a challenging look.

"I assure you that you are not in charge of anything, Aidan. Step away from the gates," Leonie responded in frosty tones, her anger beginning to snap to life in her. She could feel it jumping along her skin. She relished it as it was burning through her fog of fear. In the distance, behind the closed gate, she could hear the sounds of battle, of women screaming. She reached up and grabbed a fistful of Aidan's tightly curled hair.

"Open those gates and get out of our way," Leonie hissed angrily at the incompetent, corrupt man. His face, red from the heat and smoke, darkened and as she released her hold on his hair, he stumbled back. Leonie wanted to run the man through and then toss him to the darkspawn.

"There's no point. There can't be many left alive. If we don't close up the city and burn it the darkspawn will just continue to spread their plague!" another soldier called out.

"We are going in to the city. We are going to save as many as we can and we are going to eradicate all the darkspawn. If there are those among your ranks that are disinclined, step forward and we will show mercy and make your death for dereliction of duty as painless as possible!" Leonie said, her voice cold and implacable. The men fell silent.

"Now open that gate!" she commanded.

Before they could swing the great wooden doors open, a darkspawn approached. Leonie gripped her sword and moved forward. "Stop there, darkspawn!" she ordered.

"I am the Messenger, sent by the Architect. You must return to Vigil's Keep. The Architect be saying that. This is a trick to make you leave. Return or all will be lost to the Mother."

Leonie's fear knotted in her stomach, pushing aside her anger. There were hundreds of people at the Vigil. And her Wardens, Loghain. Her focus wavered and then, with a deep breath, cleared again.

"How many?" she barked at the creature.

"Many, many more than this one can count," he said with a sly smile and shrug of putrid flesh.

Leonie's sword moved up as she neared the darkspawn until it touched his chest. He didn't flinch and Leonie found that a bit disconcerting but she pressed her advantage.

"Where is the Mother?" she asked, pushing slightly on the sword. The Messenger winced but stood still. She waited, counting to ten, before pushing it in a bit deeper.

"Where is the Mother?" she repeated with a dangerous edge to her voice. He dropped to his knees.

"She is being hiding in the Dragonbone Wastes. The Architect will be meeting you there."

"Aidan, open the gates before your head is removed!" she bellowed over her shoulder.

She pointed at the darkspawn, his face a ruined mass of rotting flesh. "And kill this creature."

She turned away and Alistair, still staring at his first sentient darkspawn with a horrid fascination, was rubbing the back of his neck. He dropped his hand and brought his sword up.

"They feel different, don't they?" he remarked as his sword swept along the darkspawn's neck.

"They are different," Nathaniel muttered, impatiently waiting for the gate to open. "But they die the same as any other."

Leonie's brain was whirling, her adrenaline spewing into her, her battle lust raging. "Who among you is the fastest runner?" she asked, pointing to her support soldiers. All agreed that a small, wiry man named Wilnor was.

"Wilnor, to the Vigil as quickly as you can. Warn Loghain and the others to expect a large force of darkspawn from…" she trailed off. She had no idea where the Dragonbone Wastes were.

"The northwest," Nathaniel supplied quickly.

"From the northwest. Tell him that we are securing the city and then we are going to the Dragonbone Wastes to kill the Architect and the Mother. Now hurry!"

She didn't watch the man leave, turning instead to issue more orders. She couldn't allow herself to dwell on what might happen at the Vigil or she wouldn't be able to move. Beneath her calm command was a very frightened woman who was terrified for Loghain's safety. She could not bear the thought of losing one more person she loved and it settled in her like an iron weight around her heart that she might lose more than one person she loved by the time they were finished. She allowed tears to gather, blaming them on the thick smoke.

"Nathaniel, take four archers and six swordsmen and work your way around to Delilah's! If all is under control there, clear your way around to the Chantry."

"Yes, Lion," he said, already shouting orders in between coughing bouts.

The fires, in part, had been started by Aidan and the city guards trying to destroy the darkspawn. Leonie, furious and choking on smoke, wanted to kill Aidan. She settled for a swift, solid right hook, knocking the man down. She heard a cheer behind her as she was running toward the darkspawn.

She could feel at least twenty along the path she was taking toward the Chantry and another two dozen near the north gate. But there were more, moving in the shadows, she could feel them. The city guard entered their city and began to battle the shadows.

Too many heading to the Vigil for the Messenger to count them. How many was too many? Before her thoughts overwhelmed her again, she was busy fighting. Her blades clashed, a screech of metal on metal, heard the low roar of her voice as she fought, heard Alistair beside her, his shield flashing with an odd red glow from the fires.

Time seemed to slow, wind in on itself, coil and then leap forward, leaving her slightly dizzy and surprised to see that they were already nearing the Chantry, a trail of dead darkspawn in their wake. And then she felt the familiar sharp stabbing at the back of her head. An ogre. Of course. She peered into the grey gloom and saw him. Armored. Holy Maker, he was wearing armor. And with him an emissary, a powerful one. She heard a sharp gasp, realized it emanated from her, and quickly shouted orders.

"Keep the emissary drained and busy, Alistair!" she instructed over the constant din of crackling flames, clashing metal and fierce battle cries, a cacphony of hellish sounds that made it nearly impossible to think.

"Archers, focus on the emissary until he is down, you others concentrate on the darkspawn!"

She sent a quick prayer skyward and then drew her weapons up, crouching, digging her heels into the earth for leverage. It was going to be painful, hurtling into an armored ogre. She tried to mentally prepare herself for that and gripped her weapons firmly before propelling herself forward. Adrenaline pumping like blood through her, she leapt too high and her sword sank into the meaty neck exposed by the ogre's poorly crafted armor. It was the only reason she didn't die. Any lower and the massive, sharp spines that were affixed to his lower armor would have punched right through her. As it was, Lionheart sliced efficiently through the muscle and sinew, sinking deeper, pushed through to the other side of the ogre's throat, just as her dagger made contact with his gullet. She was swinging wildly, felt the fetid gust of the ogre's breath as he roared. She was going to slip, her gauntlets covered in black blood, her feet dangling uselessly in the air. She felt a scream slithering up her throat.

Alistair, with a shout of triumph, was leaping up and his shield crashed into the ogre's face just as his sword slid in underneath her dagger. The ogre went staggering back without another sound, slamming into the earth with shattering force as Leonie and Alistair rolled to safety.

"Hey! I'd forgotten how fun this whole darkspawn killing thing is!" he yelled with a remarkably cheerful smile as they picked themselves up and pulled their weapons out of the ogre. Leonie had a wild desire to laugh but was afraid if she did she wouldn't be able to stop.

They worked their way through the city and when Leonie was convinced there were no more darkspawn, they made their way to the chantry, pounding on the doors to be let in. Leonie nearly wept with relief to see the large crowd of people inside. The lay sisters were tending to the wounded.

Leonie turned to the support soldiers. "I want you to garrison at the city guard barracks until further notice. Start repairing that gate immediately. I shall send men out to help put out the fires.

"Once you have done that, you are to gather the dead darkspawn and burn them. Do not forget to wear gloves and, if you can manage it, burn them outside the city. Kerwin, you are in charge. Congratulations on your promotion to Field Sergeant."

Without waiting for acknowledgement, Leonie went to speak to the Revered Mother.

"Bann Delilah has over two hundred at her estate and there are more in the armory and guard's quarters," the older woman explained after she had thanked Leonie. She motioned for Leonie to follow her into a back room. There was a large wash tub there, filled with water, and a very comfortable looking bed.

"You should clean up, Warden Commander. Perhaps you can get some rest as well."

Leonie looked with longing at the bed, but shook her head. "We shall clean up but we must press forward," she said regretfully.

After scrubbing the darkspawn blood off, she discovered several small cuts and bruises but nothing serious. She went in search of Alistair, who was wolfing down food at a staggering rate.

"So Duncan was correct. You eat like a bear just out of hibernation," she said with an indulgent smile.

"He didn't say that about me. Did he?" Alistair asked eagerly, offering her a hunk of bread and cheese. She gladly accepted it and slid down the wall to sit beside him, stretching tired legs out in front of her as she pulled at the bread.

"Yes, he most certainly did. He said only one person could out eat you and out drink all of you. Gregor, I believe," Leonie answered before taking a large bite of the bread and washing it down with the tepid water he offered her.

"Now, eat up, Warden. We leave for the Dragonbone Wastes in one hour," she added. Standing, she looked down at him. He looked remarkably young but there was more than youth in his eyes, she thought. Acceptance, perhaps? She smiled at him.

"I shall see you at the western gate in one hour. I am going to pay a visit to Bann Delilah's estate and find Nathaniel."

Delilah welcomed Leonie warmly and offered her a cup of tea, which Leonie willingly accepted. The bann was wearing sensible trousers and a large, comfortable shirt, sleeves rolled up. She looked pale and worried but she gave Leonie a welcoming smile.

"I've already arranged for several crews to start putting out the fires. I think we have enough stores and supplies for all of us," she told Leonie and then grimaced.

"I don't know how many we've lost, but I know that Aidan will be spending a great deal of time in our dungeon," she added indignantly.

Sighing, Leonie set her mug down and stood up wearily. "I am afraid we must push on, Bann Delilah. Stay safe," she said and Delilah pulled her into a hug.

"Maker guide you, Leonie," the woman whispered and Leonie felt the tears begin to form again and ruthlessly pushed them down. She hoped there wouldn't be a need for tears but the fear was still in her, the ominous feeling that she had dreamt this all before and was powerless to change anything.

A short time later, they all met at the western gate. A large group of men were already repairing the damage and she saw still others working on dousing the flames. She looked around, confident that the city was in good hands and out of danger.

"How long will it take us to get to the Dragonbone Wastes?" she asked as Nathaniel pulled out his map.

"Three days, Lion. A day and a half if we push straight through."

"Do you suppose the stable has any horses left?" she asked hopefully.

Nathaniel's eyes lit up. "I didn't check," he said, and took off in that direction. Leonie and Alistair followed.

"Do you know how to ride, Alistair?" she asked as they hurried along the cobbled streets. He laughed shortly.

"I grew up in the stables. I taught myself," he said bitterly.

There were only a handful of horses left and most of them too old and tired to carry them far. Two looked promising and Leonie watched as the two men began to saddle the horses.

She doubled up with Nathaniel as he was the lighter of the two men. She insisted he take the reins as she had no idea where they were going and would only get them lost. Nathaniel snickered at that and when Alistair raised an inquiring brow, Nathaniel explained Leonie's habit of getting lost.

They started off at a brisk pace. The sooner they reached the Dragonbone Wastes, the sooner they could return to the Vigil and help fight. She tried to keep her mind focused on their objective but her heart kept returning to the Vigil.

When they stopped several hours later to give the horses a rest, she sat down beside Alistair.

"Alistair, I have given the other Wardens strict instructions that if the Architect captures me, you are to kill me. Is that understood?"

"Whaaat? Why?" he asked, his eyes wide, his face chalky.

"You know of Broodmothers, yes?" she asked quietly. He nodded.

"The Architect has such a plan for me, perhaps even more horrible than the Broodmothers. I will not allow such a thing to happen. This is an order and I expect it to be carried out, Alistair," Leonie replied seriously.

"You have my word," he said grudgingly. "Maker's breath, don't let that happen," he added sincerely.

Leonie was about to remind him that he had tried to harm her several times but she realized that he was no longer that same man. Something had shifted within him, the darkness that had driven him before was gone. She did not believe he had completely changed overnight, she knew he still hated Loghain, but the madness of grief and betrayal and self-loathing was no longer controlling him.

They were riding again, along the edge of the Feravel Plains. Leonie clung to Nathaniel's waist, eyes on the landscape, searching for signs of the horde marching on Vigil's Keep. Fear was now her constant companion.

* * *

Loghain watched her until she was no more than a memory on the horizon. When he could no longer justify standing there, he moved through the grounds of the keep, issuing orders.

"Voldrik, I want reinforcing timbers at those stress points on the gates," he ordered.

"Aye, Warden. You'll have them," the dwarf agreed and set about it.

Leonie was depending on him to keep the Vigil and its occupants safe. He would not disappoint her. There was an easy familiarity in issuing orders, in being in command and he found it kept his fear for Leonie's safety at bay. Barely.

"Garavel, get men up in the watchtowers."

"Varel, get as many women and children as you can into the keep."

"Dworkin, I want you to show these soldiers how to use those fire bombs of yours."

"Voldrik, show these men the weak spots along the walls. They'll use fire bombs to keep the darkspawn from massing there."

Loghain made his way through the men. The soldiers and the Wardens were working side by side to bolster the defenses of Vigil's Keep, their faces set, their voices low. He felt the sudden rush of pride in watching them, his countrymen, digging in and doing what had to be done, despite the fear that flowed in the very air around them.

Aura and Anders were in the infirmary and Loghain stopped to see how the preparations were coming along. Aura had several young girls rolling strips of linen into bandages. Young boys were bringing in pails of water, while women were lining up pallets for the wounded.

And the hours ticked slowly by. Nearly five hours after Leonie's group had departed, Wilnor came pounding up the path. Loghain listened to his report and it was only his years of military training that kept his fear from showing. He wasn't afraid of the approaching army, he was afraid for Leonie's safety. She was going to face her darkest fears alone. Anger and frustration at being left behind intertwined with his fear, made his blood cold and sluggish in his veins.

Had he finally succumbed to his feelings for her only to have her die? There was a dark irony in that and he felt a twisted bark of laughter escape him. "Not this time," he ground out but it was less promise and more prayer than he would have liked. He went in search of Tamra and Sigrun.

He had hoped that Wilnor's news would not spread as quickly as it did, but soon the fear became a nearly tangible presence in the keep. A darkspawn army was approaching. They would all perish. Even the veteran soldiers began to show signs of fear in their face. Varel, as impassive as ever, came up to Loghain.

"Perhaps you can speak to them, Warden Loghain? This fear is more deadly than any enemy," he said quietly and Loghain knew he was correct.

Loghain remembered another time, another place. A speech to rally the troops at River Dane, to help them defeat the shadow of fear that could paralyze an army. "Gather the men," he said quietly. Fear was the great equalizer, the great enemy. He had seen it time and again on the battlefields.

Loghain gave another twisted bark of laughter, dry and brittle. His fears then were different but no less strong. He closed his eyes, saw Leonie's face, stubborn and strong, full of courage, full of love. She would battle to her last breath, with every ounce of determination in her. He could do no less. He _would_ do no less. Her courage became his, her strength melding with his. Love, she had told him, made one stronger, not weaker. She loved him. He felt that love flow through him. She was with him and he could only hope that she knew he was with her.

When the courtyard filled to overflowing, Loghain made his way to the top step. The shadow of fear darkened the countenances of those gathered. He understood their fear but he would not give in to it. He would not allow them to either.

"We defeated the Orlesians with little more than grit and resolve. We threw those Chevaliers out of our country on their arses! We defeated the Blight with that same stony determination, the shortest Blight in the history of Thedas!

"Soldiers and farmers, merchants and nobles came together to fight for their freedom, for their country! Against overwhelming odds, we were victorious! We can't be defeated! We are Fereldans!"

The crowd began to howl and stomp, the swell of cheers growing into a thundering roar, dissipating the shadow of fear that had hung so heavily in the air. The soldiers were taking up the chant, "We are Fereldans!" as Loghain made his way through the crowd, soldiers and farmers, merchants and Wardens stomping and shouting.

Fear no longer ruled the people in the keep, save one. Loghain made his way up to the top of the nearest watchtower. As he looked to the northwest, he wondered where Leonie was and if she would find her way back to him.

His fear was a shadow that refused to leave.


	44. Chapter 44

**The Death of Dreams**

Curled up on the hard ground, staring at the wisps of smoke from their fire, Leonie could not sleep. Her dreams had awoken her, persistent imagery of carnage and death at the Vigil kept stealing her fragile calm, robbing her of sleep.

Alistair coughed and she heard him moving restlessly in his sleep. Nathaniel was quietly sharpening arrowheads by the fire; she could hear the steady rasping noise of his knife as he worked. She struggled to sit up.

"You should try and get some more sleep, Lion," he chided quietly, before going back to his work.

"At least you have not yet told me I look terrible," she replied, reaching for her breastplate.

"I don't like to state the obvious," he replied with a snigger, surprising Leonie into a huff of laughter.

There was a steadiness in Nathaniel that Leonie found not only comforting but calming as well. Tamra had been good for him. She was the warm, golden sun of summer to his dark, winter night. He brooded less, participated more, even teased on occasion. And he had been good for Tamra, a steadying, guiding hand that gave her a new, quiet confidence.

She finished buckling into her armor and looked at the sky. Long streaks of grey, edged with salmon and deep violet, meant morning was close and with the dawn came their continued push to the Dragonbone Wastes. From the look of the deeply tinted clouds starting to glow in the ever lightening sky, rain would soon be traveling with them.

"It is time to wake up, Warden Alistair. We need to move out soon," Leonie called out quietly, as she began to fill their bowls with the leftover gruel. It was an unappetizing grey glop in her bowl and it was sheer stubbornness that kept her from setting it aside. She had ordered her men to eat, she wasn't about to do otherwise. But each bite became a hard, miserable lump in her stomach.

Alistair finished his bowl with more relish than manners and then looked around for more. She readily handed him the rest of hers. She found several pieces of dried, salted meat in her pack and handed those over as well. They were gone before she could close and refasten her pack.

Standing up she began to pack up her gear. They would reach the Dragonbone Wastes soon and she was anxious to put an end to the Architect and the Mother. It was time those dreams, those nightmares, ended.

"This place we are going, it is just a graveyard for dragons, yes? We will not encounter any?" Leonie asked as she mounted behind Nathaniel.

"So they say. I haven't been there since I was twelve. No dragons then," Nathaniel reassured.

"As long as we don't run into dragon cultists, we should be fine. They're tougher than a high dragon," Alistair chimed in with a grumble, before adding plaintively, "I'm still hungry, anyone have any hardtack?"

Leonie buried her face into Nathaniel's back to keep from laughing. She felt his shoulders shake slightly and knew he was suppressing his own laughter. "I've got a spare pair of boots in my pack. You're welcome to try them," Nathaniel finally answered and Leonie bit her lip to hold back her snicker. She was afraid Alistair might take him up on it.

"No thanks," Alistair finally replied with a grin. "They taste pretty awful without gravy," he explained and the laughter that Leonie had been trying to suppress decided to come out in a gust.

Rain began as they approached their destination. A steady wet trickle from leaking clouds. Leonie called a halt and they tied the horses and hid the bulk of their gear nearby. Leonie kept only empty vials and healing items in her hip kit. Nathaniel and Alistair did the same. She rationed out their food and they ate in solemn silence.

Of course there were dragon cultists. Nothing, she thought with a certain bitter irony, was ever simple. Leonie found the cultists were every bit as tough as Alistair had said they were. She had Nathaniel climb up to the top of a rise overlooking them and pick off as many as he could. He was wickedly accurate even from that distance, allowing Leonie to move at will. She and Alistair battled their way through the throng of True Believers, as Alistair called them.

As they pressed forward, Leonie caught a mace in the side, knocking her down to her knees, where she toppled over in the mud. She was incensed, so angry at the suddenness of the pain that she hurled her dagger at the man, catching him in the chest and surprising them both. He went down without a sound; she stood up and ripped her dagger out of him, uttering a triumphant grunt over the body. Alistair shook his head and continued on.

By the time they had finished killing the last of the cultists, Leonie could feel the sharp ache of the bruises forming on her side. She and the others paused long enough for her to down one of the healing potions and take a long pull from her waterskin. Nathaniel was busy gathering arrows. It was while she was examining a nasty looking gash on Alistair's cheek that she heard the leathery beat of wings, felt the downdraft. She and Alistair exchanged glances.

"Nathaniel, target the eyes and throat! Flanking only, Alistair! Destroy the wings first!" she cried as she once again unsheathed her weapons. Her sword slashed and hacked through the tough fibrous skin of the dragon's wing. The dragon was plunging and lunging, roaring and belching out a green mist that smelled deadly. She and Alistair were constantly adjusting their stances to keep their flanking positions.

When she was certain the dragon could no longer fly, she yelled at Alistair, "Up! Jump up and go for the brain!" She hoisted herself up, steadying herself before beginning the ascent up the thick, horned skin of the dragon's long neck. The beast was flailing, neck twisting in an attempt to throw them off. Leonie felt herself sliding down the wet neck and then tumbling to the ground. A large, curved talon swept toward her and she rolled, continued rolling until she was far enough away from the dragon to stand.

"To your left!' Nathaniel cried as she searched desperately for her weapons. She grabbed Lionheart and ran toward the dragon. Alistair had reached the head of the beast and was raising his arms high over his head to plunge his sword in. With a roar of his own, he sank his sword into the dragon's head all the way up to the hilt. The dragon screamed in agony, pitching forward, and Alistair's voice was a long wail in the wind.

"Hold on to the sword!" Leonie screamed at him and he grabbed the sword. She could see he was preparing himself for impact and she continued running toward the beast, who, with a shudder and stagger, dropped lifeless to the ground. Alistair slowly released his grip on his sword and pulled it out.

"That's a lot of blood," he said in something akin to awe as Leonie came to stand beside him. The pool of blood was flowing in an ever widening pool and they both stepped back. The rain, still trickling with lazy intent from leaden skies, began to wash the blood and gore from their armor as they stood there.

It was then, when she was just contemplating her next move, that she felt the fragile, caressing pull in her blood, like a beckoning call from a lover and she felt herself moving forward, drifting with a light tread. Black ribbons of dark magic seemed to move through her blood, into her brain, robbing her of her own will. A voice, hypnotic and mesmerizing was whispering to her and she knew who it was.

"Lion!" Nathaniel called in alarm as she moved toward a door in the side of a cliff. It was open, welcoming. She found herself walking through it, unable to stop.

"Nathaniel! He is here!" she cried, trying to bring her arms up and brace herself against the door, to stop herself.

"Alistair, he is using mind control. Break it!" she screamed, but her voice sounded like the distant echo of a forgotten dream.

"On it!" Alistair yelled.

She saw him moving quickly toward her, toward the steps leading down into a dark abyss that was so familiar she knew which corridor to take, which hallway was blocked. She had been here in her dark dreams after Montran. But not a dream, this was not a dream.

Snaking through her thoughts, fingers of blood and madness, dark and malevolent, she had finally found the Architect.

"Can you only hold me through mind control?" she sneered contemptuously as she entered the round chamber she knew he was in. Or did she only think it? The fingers and ribbons slithered away and she gasped at the sudden emptiness in her, the coldness.

"You are here because you are destined to be here, Leonie. You know what is in your blood. We are the same," the Architect crooned. His smile was grotesquely lopsided and filled with an unholy darkness. Leonie was shaking, weakness wicking along her muscles.

"No! We are not the same. I am not a darkspawn!"

Nathaniel was in the shadows. She caught a flicker of movement and then he was gone again. Alistair was coming to stand beside her.

"You remember your orders, Warden Alistair. I will not be taken alive," she whispered to him and Alistair blanched but nodded once.

Unsheathing her sword, she smiled grimly at the Architect. "I once fought a duel with a Chevalier using this sword. I do not suppose you will be much more difficult," she mocked.

"So, you wish to fight me? When we could be so much more? I was sure you would want answers first," the Architect said in amusement, moving in her direction.

"You are Svanar Fryklund, are you not?" Leonie asked quietly and the Architect hesitated. "A fifth generation Grey Warden mage went to his Calling thirty years ago. Are you not that same man?" she continued, watching the creature's eye widen.

"That is a name I have not heard in many years. That man no longer exists," the Architect replied with a small, pensive smile.

"And I am a fifth generation Grey Warden, am I not? That is why you want me?" Leonie pressed, her sword arm moving up as she balanced on the balls of her feet. She felt another Warden presence, tainted and twisted. Utha, she rememebered suddenly, the Silent Sister who traveled with the Architect.

"The Calling. How little you know, my lovely Leonie. You think you go on your Calling to prevent yourself from becoming a ghoul. It is what they would have you believe. What they teach you. But that is not the truth," he answered softly, his voice lulling and hypnotic.

"What is the truth?" she prodded, moving forward slowly. They were a mere ten paces from each other. She saw that Alistair had finally noticed the dwarf warrior, Utha, and he was moving to intercept her.

"A Warden hears the call of his brethren, calling him home to the Deep Roads. And when a Warden tarries too long in the Deep Roads, he become one of them. He is a darkspawn. Even now, the taint is slowly destroying your fellow Wardens and they will become the very thing they have spent their lifetimes fighting. We take in the taint to destroy them but in the end we become them."

Leonie's mouth went dry, her thoughts fell away. "You are lying," she claimed but there was uncertainty in her voice. Maker, was that true? Had that happened to her father? Ceres? All the others? Had they become mindless monsters searching for an Old God?

"You know the truth. It is in your blood. You are like me, Leonie. We are special. I became a darkspawn and then I discovered the secret within my blood. I became more than a human and more than a darkspawn. Listen to our blood, feel it, Leonie. It is the same," he whispered. "Do you hear it singing its own siren song?"

"No! No you are lying!" she cried, but somewhere inside her she began to believe he was telling the truth. She tried to bring her sword up but found she could not.

"These sentient darkspawn, did you create them?" she pressed on, her voice shaking. Her need to know was only slightly stronger than her need to pretend this was all a dream.

"I do not create, that is what the Mother was intended to do. We are trying to balance the world, Leonie. You can help in that."

"How? How can I help?" she whispered, sickened. Her sword hung limply in her hand.

"You would be the perfect mother for a new generation, neither darkspawn nor human," he sighed, his voice wrapping softly around her thoughts, flowing like silk through her blood.

"I – I cannot do that," she murmured.

"Kill him already!" Alistair yelled as he fought with Utha in the shadows just beyond her vision. His voice reached into her, past the dark whispers in her head.

"The new darkspawn, are they from Mother?"

"Sadly, she did not react quite as I had anticipated. I did not have enough of your blood for her," he remarked with a grimace. "Too little drives them insane."

"Too little of my blood? You - you gave them my blood?" Leonie asked on a rising note, horrified.

"Just as you drank some of mine at your joining," he agreed with an eerie, almost gleeful smile. "You were drawn to the only darkspawn that had been given his new Joining using my blood. That is not coincidence, that is destiny," he murmured tenderly.

"We are not the same," Leonie murmured. _Maker, do not let me be like him_. "Are the sentient darkspawn other Wardens?" she heard herself ask in a weak, frightened voice.

"You will know all the answers in time, Leonie."

"Where is my ring?" she demanded, bringing her sword arm up, muscles once again taut and ready. Her vision cleared and she saw the monster before her, could not stop the fear that the same monster lurked within her.

"Come with me, Leonie, and you shall have your ring. Help me create the dynasty of a new species," he said, his voice a soft, sibilant sigh. "We can put an end to any future Blights," he tempted with a another twisted smile.

"You created the Blight that killed thousands, you have sent your talking darkspawn into the world and killed hundreds. You have allowed your Mother, your chosen mate, to produce a new darkspawn, all of these things you have done and yet you believe I would go with you?" she asked, incredulous.

Dark fingers in her blood again, pulling her forward until she was standing within a single step of him. Leonie struggled, trying to push those fingers out, tried to control her actions, her thoughts.

"You will not take me. My men have orders to kill me rather than let me go."

She caught a flicker of movement, saw that Alistair was quietly moving in behind the Architect.

"Come, Leonie," the Architect beckoned, his smile almost sweetly pleading.

"I – I cannot go with you until I know everything," she finally whispered, reaching up to touch his cheek. She heard Alistair's hiss of dismay. "Share your knowledge with me, Svanar, and I shall go with you," she continued, placing her sword on the ground.

He moved his hands, placing them along her temples and they curled around her brain as he whispered his knowledge into her thoughts. This, she thought hazily, was finally the death of dreams.

* * *

The rain arrived with the first wave of darkspawn. Loghain, standing in the watchtower, raised the alarm.

"Northwest archers, make ready!" he called and watched as the archers took up their positions along the outer walls.

They were moving as one unit, genlocks and hurlocks together, a massive wall of darkspawn intent on destroying them. He felt a curious sense of familiarity in watching them rushing headlong at the stone walls.

"First line, move out!" he shouted and watched as a wall of shield warriors stepped out in front.

The women and children were in the keep. Anders, standing beside him, had a dozen mana potions with him, ready to cast whatever was needed. Sigrun was staying in the shadows, watchful and waiting. Tamra and Varel were with the shield warriors, Garavel was on the far wall with his men, waiting for the order to drop the firebombs. Loghain's smile was grim as he called to the archers to launch their first volley. This was war and war was something Loghain Mac Tir understood very well.

The first gate to fall was the small garden gate. A group of archers had been posted there, along with Dworkin. Two dozen darkspawn fell in minutes, blocking the passage. The other darkspawn hissed and growled and cried their frustration. Voldrik moved forward with a team of men, filling in the gap with timbers and rock. The firebombs made short work of those on the other side of the gate.

It was then that Loghain noticed that the hurlocks were literally launching the genlocks over the walls. Some missed and some had their skulls crushed as their heads met stone wall, but some were getting through.

"Sigrun, take your men to the north!" he shouted and then the emissaries arrived. Loghain's tower was set on fire by an emissary's fireball and he and Anders stumbled down the stairs as the tower began to lean precariously. They barely cleared it before it toppled over, sending sparks everywhere.

"Anders, get the buckets ready!" Loghain ordered, drawing his sword and shield as he ran forward. He didn't watch to see if his order was carried out. He knew these men. He didn't have to watch.

He felt alive, every nerve ending snapping with life, with adrenaline. The sounds of the battle rose in pitch, pulsed through his blood as he led the shield warriors forward, felt the satisfaction of slicing through a hurlock with his sword, bashing at a hurlock with his shield. The rain slicked down his skin, washing it free of the splattering blood. He raised his face to the sky, a loud cry urging his men to press forward.

The first three waves were crushed with little damage to the keep and few injuries. But there were more on the way. They had less than an hour to regroup before the next waves came at them, more vicious and deadlier than the last.

"Get those emissaries down quickly!" he shouted at the archers and then he felt it, the prickle of pain at the back of his head that Leonie had warned him meant an ogre. The main gates shuddered and shook at the force of the attack. There must be more than one, Loghain realized and moved to the gates. The reinforcing timber was cracking under the onslaught.

"Dworkin, get those firebombs to the main gate!" he commanded over the cacophony of battle.

"Herren and Wade, bring those iron sheets up now!" he yelled and watched as Voldrik and the armorsmiths led a group of men carrying large iron slats up to the front gates. It had taken all day to melt all the old armor they could find and forge it into a series of metal plates.

"Get them in place, Voldrik and then I want the three of you inside the keep," Loghain ordered before moving away again to fight the encroaching horde. They battled well into the night, the gates and walls holding.

Exhausted, Loghain found a quiet step to sit on, pulling out his waterskin and drinking deeply. Anders came up and collapsed beside him.

"Casualties?" Loghain asked wearily.

"Fourteen dead, thirty three wounded," Anders replied glumly. Loghain clapped him on the shoulder.

"A fine job, mage."

Anders stared at him in disbelief. "A fine job? A fine job would be zero of each," the made declared angrily.

"Not possible, Anders. War breeds casualties. We are doing well, trust me," Loghain replied calmly.

The shockwave sent both of them to the ground. Two ogres, working together, had destroyed the reinforced gate, the iron bent and twisted. Loghain was already moving toward them, dropping his shield and reaching for his dagger. He launched himself at the first, felt the bite of steel in muscle and shoved his sword deeper, twisting. Loghain felt a flush of triumph as the ogre began staggering backward. Until the second ogre grabbed him, plucking him off the dying ogre as if he weighed no more than a child.

The hand that held him began to squeeze. He could feel his armor being crushed, digging into him painfully. He wondered if Cailan had felt this pain, the feeling that his bones were liquefying, like the air was being pushed with angry hands out of his lungs. The irony made Loghain want to laugh but he had no breath to do so. The world was tilting and growing dimmer. It seemed a fitting end. His need to laugh turned into an overwhelming grief. Leonie. He had wasted so much time denying his feelings for her, fighting her every step of the way. And now it appeared he had no more time. Was this, then, the death of dreams? His eyes closed against the black that was devouring him.

* * *

"Thank you, Svanar," Leonie whispered with a trembling smile, moving her hand slowly to her waist. With a quick twist of her wrist, she pulled her dagger out and plunged it into the Architect. He screeched in pain and surprise, slapped at her with hands that were already curling in on themselves in pain as her dagger twisted into his chest.

"And now you die, you bastard," she hissed at him and when Alistair moved in to help her, she waved him away. She pulled the dagger out very slowly, turning it the entire time as she did, knowing it was slicing into him with each turn. His eye was wild, the light in it dimming with pain, and death. With a smile that only the Architect could see, she thrust her dagger in again, this time through his heart. Finally, the death of dreams. She withdrew her dagger, watching the blood gathering underneath her feet. It was just blood, it no longer sang to her.

"Come help me, we need to collect his blood," Leonie said calmly.

"Andraste's ass, Lion! You might have let us know you weren't his thrall," Nathaniel muttered angrily as he squatted down beside her with several empty vials. "I nearly killed you!" he exclaimed, voice unsteady.

"Yes, Nathaniel, because he would not have heard me say that," she returned and then stopped and turned to him.

"I am sorry, Nathaniel. I could not let you know without letting Svanar know. I did not mean to frighten you," she said softly, contrite.

"Still, it would have been nice to know," he grumbled, collecting the full vials and sliding them carefully into his kit.

"I know where his journals are. They are in the room with the Mother. I think we need to go and kill her, yes? I have a desire to return to the Vigil and have a bath," she continued and stood up.

"Warden Alistair? You look very pale. Are you wounded?" she asked in concern, coming to sit beside him. His face was ashen, his eyes wide and shimmering.

"Maker's breath! Has anyone ever told you that you are insane?" he asked, eyeing her through damp lashes.

"Entirely too often for my liking," she responded with a smile. "Now, shall we finish our work and go home?"

"Home? I like the sound of that," he agreed with an answering smile.

They gathered up their gear and the vials of blood and made their way along the winding corridors that led further into the mountainside.

"How is it, Lion, that you know your way around here but you get lost going from the smithy to the stable?" Nathaniel asked finally.

"I have been here many, many times, Nathaniel."

"Do I want to know?" Alistair chimed in.

"In my dreams," she explained and then stopped abruptly.

"She is in that chamber and she is not alone," Leonie cautioned. "Warden Alistair, you know how to fight a Broodmother, yes?"

"Know? Yes. Like? Not so much."

"Nathaniel, stay in the shadows and shoot from range. I am hopeful that we can dispatch the guardians first, before the Mother joins in. If this does not happen, stay with the guardians before you start fighting the Mother, yes?"

Both men nodded. Leonie took a deep, steadying breath and then entered the chamber. The guardians were more of the new darkspawn, worms on legs that seemed to have bodies made of silverite. Leonie felt the sharp burn of teeth biting into the soft skin of her shoulder. When had she lost her pauldron? She staggered back and fell to one knee, reaching frantically for a healing potion. The hot fluid coursed through her and she was up again, hacking through the guardian and kicking him away. Her dagger was useless to her, her shoulder oozing blood and the muscles refusing to obey her.

The Mother was not at all happy with the Wardens. Every time Leonie found an opening, a tentacle would appear out of the ground and swat her away. Alistair was continuing to occupy the Mother with swift strikes and bashes. Nathaniel's arrows whistled over her head. Groaning, Leonie picked herself up again and with an angry cry, ran at the insane monster that had once been a human woman, that could have just as easily been her. She thrust Lionheart into the Mother's gaping mouth. The silence was instant and welcoming.

Leonie sank to the ground, panting. She was lightheaded and her muscles were screaming in protest. She could feel bruises coming up along her legs where the tentacles had wrapped around her. She glanced at Nathaniel, barely scratched. She wondered if she was too old to learn archery.

"I hurt," Alistair lamented and then added, "And I'm hungry."

Leonie raised a tired brow at him. He flashed an equally tired smile at her. He was sporting a rather large black eye and a large lump was forming on his forehead. When he noticed her scrutiny, he ran a hand along his brow. There was blood leaking from a cut somewhere on his leg.

"That dwarf woman. She didn't fight fair," he said with an embarrassed smile.

They spent almost an hour tending to wounds. None of them were as serious as they could have been. She knew how lucky they were. She could only pray that those at the Vigil were equally lucky. Her thoughts turned to Loghain and she closed her eyes, momentarily overcome with fear for him, for the others. She would not lose anyone else, she could not. But she wanted to leave the accursed place and get back to the others.

Svanar's journal was in a small room off the Mother's chamber. She gathered it up, along with several small vials of viscous black fluid, and in the midst of the clutter was a small wooden box. Leonie's heart beat loudly and her fingers trembled as she opened the lid. Nestled in the bottom of the box on a piece of linen, was her ring. She pulled off her gauntlet and slipped the ring on her finger just before the tears came. Nathaniel came and put his arm around her and Alistair looked around uncomfortably.

"Those are happy tears, right?" he finally asked.

"Very," she mumbled through them and gave him a watery smile. She could explain later. Now was the time to leave.

"Was he telling the truth, Warden Commander?" Alistair asked as they reached the horses.

Leonie sighed. Was he? Only time and the journals would tell, but the knowledge Svanar Fryklund had shared with her said he was telling only a part of the truth.

"Not entirely, Warden Alistair. But I do not know yet what is the truth and what is his own peculiar truth," she answered tiredly and let Nathaniel pull her up behind him as they turned the horses home.

* * *

Loghain had not expected to wake up. And when he finally did, he found even his eyelashes seemed to hurt. Anders, looking exhausted and grim, was sitting by his bed.

"This is unexpected," Loghain managed around a dry and swollen tongue.

"And more than you deserve," Anders agreed, helping Loghain sit up enough to drink some water. Most of it dribbled down his chin. Loghain frowned and found that hurt as well.

"Casualties?" he asked finally.

"Thirty six dead, fifty seven wounded. No women or children," Anders said glumly.

Loghain, while not happy with the numbers, felt a wave of relief. That was far fewer than he had expected, far fewer than he had any right to expect, considering.

"Varel? The other Wardens?"

"Fine. Well, Sigrun has a broken arm and Tamra has some nasty cuts, but otherwise, they're fine. Garavel didn't make it."

Loghain nodded and found that hurt as well. Anders leaned forward and whispered as a soft blue glow flowed through Loghain's body. He sighed as the pain eased.

"What happened to Garavel?" he finally managed.

"He tried to save you. Well, actually, he _did _save you. He just forgot to save himself as well. The ogre crushed him when he fell."

"And my injuries?" Loghain asked.

"Nothing too serious. Lots of bruises, inside and out. You have bruises on top of bruises, actually. And I think all but two of your ribs were broken. When I saw you, I was sure you were dead. Bedrest for at least three days, maybe more."

Loghain was silent for a long time. "Any word on the Commander's team?"

"No, nothing. I would have thought they'd be back by now," the mage answered, worrying his lower lip. "She never writes, never visits," he added, his attempt at humor falling heavy and flat.

"Well, Anders, it is possible that we were a little busy, yes?" Leonie said, stepping into the room with a tired smile. Loghain found his heart was beating entirely too quickly. He tried to stifle the groan that rose unbidden as he moved his head toward the door.

Anders was up and swinging her into his arms, shouting with relief, before Loghain had time to do little more than register her presence. He found himself smiling, even though it hurt.

"Ewww, you're bleeding all over my robe!" Anders exclaimed, setting her down hurriedly. Loghain struggled to sit up. Bleeding? His smile faltered.

"It is nothing, Anders, and your robe was ruined long before I had the temerity to bleed on it," Leonie chided with another smile as she made her way to Loghain's side.

"And you, you stubborn man, do not try to move," she ordered sternly, kneeling down beside the bed.

She was a mess, her hair matted and bloody, her face bruised and sweat stained. Her armor was dented and her pauldron was missing, a bandage leaking blood in its place. But her eyes were telling him things he thought he should listen to. She reached out with tender fingers and gently brushed the hair back from his forehead. "You look terrible," she remarked with a smirk.

"Insolent chit," he muttered softly and she rewarded him with another smile, bending to brush her lips against his. It hurt, but he found he didn't mind the pain at all.


	45. Chapter 45

**A/N: **_Many have asked if this story was going to continue. Originally I had planned to continue it but, after much thought and helpful advice, I have decided that this seems an appropriate place to end this particular part of Leonie's story. I will be starting a sequel, __**The Lion's Den**__, which takes place shortly after the events in this story. I should have the first chapter posted by tomorrow. I hope you will continue to enjoy Leonie's journey. _

_I want to thank everyone who has supported me, encouraged me, reviewed, lurked and bookmarked Leonie's story. I can't tell you how wonderful an experience it is to have people enjoy what I write. Special thanks to __**icey cold, Enaid Aderyn**__ and __**Arsinoe de Blassenville**__ for their ideas, creativity, help and support. _

_

* * *

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**Comes the Gloaming**

Stiff and sore, Leonie woke slowly. She was confused at first to find herself huddled in an overstuffed chair in Loghain's room until her mind caught up with her. Her eyes went to the bed where Loghain was sleeping, his breathing deep and restful. She clasped her hands on her lap, the need to touch him, to reassure herself that he truly was alive, powerful within her.

"No longer molesting sleeping men I see," Loghain remarked, eyes still closed.

"If I thought there was some place safe to do such, I would," she retorted. He was more colorful then any sunset she had ever seen. Some bruises were pale lemon and lilac, some were deep violet and harsh pink, while others looked inky black, edged in deep blue. They all ran together in intricate patterns.

"I believe there is a spot just above my right brow, if you've a mind," he rumbled.

Leonie leaned forward and carefully rested her lips there. "It is a foul day indeed when the great Loghain Mac Tir cannot even manage a scowl," she teased as she settled back in her chair.

"Just so," he responded and drifted back to sleep.

There was work to do, so much of it that it staggered her mind, but for the moment she stayed in the chair, watching the slow rise and fall of Loghain's chest. Soon enough she would have to find Varel and inspect the damage, console the living, plan the funeral pyres for the dead, but for this moment she was content to draw comfort from Loghain's presence.

Anders came in, as quiet as a cat, and cast a healing spell on Loghain, who didn't wake. "Wow, he looks like a painter's palette doesn't he?" he whispered.

"I would suggest my palette never had so many colors," she argued just as quietly.

"Your shoulder is still oozing, Lion. You need to come to the infirmary and let me put a poultice on it. Bites can be very nasty things."

"It is of no consequence, Anders. Save the poultices for those in greater need, yes?"

"No. Don't be a stubborn child," Loghain's voice broke in, implacable as ever. Even as tired and sore as he was, he managed to find the energy to order her about. She hid a smile.

"There are times, my dear Loghain, when the only sensible thing to do with you is beat you black and blue," she said and then snickered as he was, indeed, black and blue. And pink. And yellow and lilac and now she noticed some green as well. Anders hid his laughter no better than Leonie did.

"Madam, should you even attempt such a thing, you would be the poorer for it," Loghain threatened and then emitted a grunt of pain as he tried to sit up. Leonie came quickly to help him but then stood helplessly by as she had no idea where she could put her hands to do so.

Anders bent and examined Loghain and then cast another spell. "I suppose telling you to stay in bed for at least another two days would be like telling Lion she needs a poultice on that bite?" he remarked with a long suffering sigh.

"I suppose you'd be right, mage," Loghain agreed and Leonie saw his lips tighten with the effort of moving.

"As your commander, I shall give you a choice, Loghain. Stay in bed the rest of today and I shall go with Anders to have a poultice applied to my bite, or get up out of that bed and have me faint from blood loss," she compromised with a bright smile. "Choice is a wonderful thing, is it not?"

Loghain growled but Leonie suspected it was more for show. "I shall be down there in a minute, Anders," she said quietly and when the door was shut, she sat on the edge of the bed as carefully as she could.

"I love you, Loghain," she whispered, tears forming. "I ask that you take some time to mend, for my sake, if not for your own. Besides, the sooner you are better, the sooner I can kiss more than your brow, yes?"

Loghain reached out and placed his hand over hers. "There's no need for tears, Leonie. It's over. The Architect can't hurt you any longer. We can finally get to the business of rebuilding the Ferelden Order now," he remonstrated gently. Leonie sniffed and nodded, the tears continuing to slide down her cheeks.

"It is as you say and yet these tears do not wish to stop," she apologized, swiping at them with the backs of her hands. "He has been my enemy so long I do not know how to let it go," she explained softly. "That is an odd thing to admit," she finished sheepishly.

"And yet, I understand it better than most, don't I?" he responded, a hint of bitterness flavored by irony coloring his voice. They sat for a long time, quiet and companionable, sharing the silence between them like a rare gift.

When she was sure he was once again sleeping, Leonie left Loghain's room and made her way to the infirmary. She was staggered by the amount of people, as many helping as were wounded, and her tears stung at her eyes again but she blinked them away. The people had worked together to save the Vigil and those same people were now working together to save their friends and families.

Aura came up, giving Leonie a tight hug. "Thank you, Lion. I don't think I've ever felt this useful," she whispered and Leonie smiled as she stepped back.

"You are as much a part of our family as any Warden, Aura. Never doubt it."

Leonie unlaced her shirt and pulled it down over her shoulder. Aura carefully removed the bandage that Leonie had hastily wrapped around her wound. The bite area was red and raw, still oozing and open. Aura called Anders over.

"Maker, Leonie, you didn't tell me it actually took a bite out of you," Anders remonstrated and proceeded to pour a viscous green fluid over her wound that had Leonie hissing with pain.

"That is precisely why, Anders. It stings," Leonie bit out, gritting her teeth.

"Well yes, because, well, there isn't any skin there anymore," Anders explained with a frown. "I can pull the skin together but it's been open long enough to leave a scar."

Leonie sighed. "Add it to my list, yes? Some day the Wardens can have a contest to see who has the most scars," she replied with a dry laugh.

"Oh no fair, I don't have a mark on me," Anders complained, but with a certain amount of conceit in his voice.

"Then you must get started while there is still time, yes?"

After her shoulder was bandaged in clean cotton, she made the rounds, visiting with each of the injured and their families, thanking them for their service. Amaryllis was there, sitting next to Handrin, who was swathed in bandages but cheerful enough. Amaryllis hardly seemed like the gaunt, worn woman she had taken in. Her cheeks were fuller, her eyes less haggard.

"How are the children? Has Ethan finally lost that tooth?" Leonie asked and Amaryllis chuckled.

"Aye, that he did, young miss. You ken he had Samuel's help," the woman replied with another chuckle.

Tamra and Nathaniel were in the dining hall when she found her way there, her stomach reminding her of how little she'd eaten in the past few days. They were sitting close together, discussing their adventures and Nathaniel was holding on to Tamra's hand like it was the most precious gem in the world. Had her stomach not chosen that moment to growl, Leonie would have turned and left them to enjoy a moment of peace.

"Is it true, Leonie? You played the Grand Game against the Architect?" Tamra asked in somewhat awed tones.

"I merely let him believe something which was not entirely true," Leonie replied, filling a plate and sitting across from them.

"Lion, you and Duncan were married, so does that mean Grey Wardens are allowed to marry each other?" Nathaniel asked, his voice serious but there was a quiver in it, of excitement or nerves, Leonie couldn't determine.

"There has always been a belief that they do not allow such things. It is not forbidden, merely discouraged because no children can come of such a union," Leonie said, and for a moment, she rubbed her ring, her mind on Duncan. What would he think of her now? Would he be proud of her? She missed him with that sudden sharp longing that made her ache.

"My belief is that you must always follow your heart, yes?" she added with a gentle smile. Having something so good come out of all the carnage brought a certain joy to Leonie. Nathaniel met her eyes and nodded once, a small smile gracing his austere face.

"Then you can be the first to offer congratulations. Or condolences," he added with a proud gleam in his eyes. Tamra was blushing and laughing.

"Felicitations," Leonie said and came around the table to hug them both. Her tears, still so ready to fall, made their desire known but Leonie blinked them away again.

"The Vigil and the Wardens are at your disposal for the event," she added over her shoulder as she made her way out of the dining hall.

Leonie spent several hours with a very tired Varel, who was sporting a most impressive black eye and various cuts. They decided on which repairs were to begin right away and which could wait. She asked him to prepare the funeral pyres for the following evening and her tears came again, hot and abundant, unwilling to be blinked away.

"I am tired, forgive me, Varel," she mumbled thickly and then he surprised Leonie. He put his arm around her and let her lean against him as she cried, comforting her much as a father would. It made her tears come faster. Finally, when even she was sure she had no more tears left, she straightened up and thanked him, kissing his weathered cheek softly before leaving, her mood greatly improved.

Sigrun was in her room and when Leonie saw what she was doing, her heart dropped to her stomach. "Sigrun, where are you going?" Leonie asked, moving to the young dwarf.

"Dead woman walking, remember?" Sigrun said, thumping her chest with a grim smile. "I need to get back to the Deep Roads now."

Leonie was speechless, her mind whirling. "You cannot go, Sigrun. You have a duty to your fellow Wardens," she began but Sigrun shrugged, returning to her task.

"Do you not recall saying 'dead is dead' when you agreed to stay?" Leonie asked and the woman blushed under her tattoos.

"Well sure, Lion, but come on, you have plenty of people here now."

"Oh Sigrun, we do not have nearly enough Wardens yet. I cannot do this without _your _help," Leonie argued and knew it was true. Sigrun was the sparkling laughter on a rainy day, the one who unfailingly knew how to make her feel better. She was one of the few female friends Leonie had ever had. Explaining this to Sigrun made the young woman's blush deepen.

Sigrun went to her pack and began to remove items. "I was right, though. Dead is dead," she said.

"Dead women walking," Leonie agreed as she left Sigrun's room to the music of Sigrun's laughter.

Alistair was sitting in his room, staring at Duncan's portrait but seemed happy enough to see Leonie. She came and sat beside him on his bed.

"I called him my Rivaini pirate," she said softly, staring up at the smile lurking on Duncan's lips.

"He called you his sweet Lion. Whenever he said your name is was always that way."

"Do you know my ring exactly matches his earring?" Leonie asked, holding her hand out so Alistair could examine it.

"Do you still miss him?" Alistair asked hesitantly.

"Every day, as I said before. I did not say that for your benefit, Alistair, I say it because it is true. But I can think of him now, remember our time together, without that sharp knife of pain lodged in my heart."

"I still don't know that I can work with Loghain," he said and she smiled at him.

"Perhaps in time you will be able to, yes? If not, we shall find a happier home for you within the Wardens. I would hope you stay. You are a piece of Duncan's history and I rather like that," she said and then stood, walking to the door.

"You are a fine, brave warrior, Alistair. As Duncan said, you have only to believe in yourself," she added quietly before softly closing the door behind her.

Loghain was sleeping when she came back to his room. She curled up in the chair, tucking her feet under her and watched him. He was such a proud, strong man, stubborn and taciturn, given to bouts of anger and yet he had a tenderness in him, a dry wit, and as much as he frustrated her at times, she could not imagine him any other way. She smiled and, closing her eyes, fell asleep.

"Come to bed, Leonie," Loghain said some time later, his voice a low rumble. She blinked. The room was dark. Somehow she had fallen asleep for hours. She stretched and yawned.

"I do not wish to hurt you, Loghain. I am fine where I am," she assured him.

"Come to bed," he said again more firmly and she smiled in the dark. He was such an autocrat. But she stripped out of her trousers and shirt and slid into bed, trying to stay far enough away from him not to cause him pain.

"I don't imagine I'll break should you decide to move closer," he said dryly.

"Are you not afraid my snoring will be too loud should I move any closer?" she teased.

"Ah, perhaps I should reconsider," he agreed, reaching out to pull her to him with a low hum of pain.

"Good night, my dear Loghain," she murmured, dropping a kiss on his right brow.

"I believe my lips are not quite so sore now," he said and she found his lips in a long, sweet kiss. They fell asleep in each other's arms.

* * *

Leonie sat on the very edge of the battlement, legs dangling over the side as she watched the day begin to fade from golden blue to dusty grey. She watched as the men and women of the Vigil began to gather in the far field, where thirty six funeral pyres awaited. It was time for the ceremony to honor those who had died defending the Vigil. She stood slowly as the scene unfolded below her, reluctant in that moment to leave the peace she had found sitting alone at the top of the Keep.

Pulling her gray cloak loosely around her, she stood for another moment, letting the wind whisper promises of better days to come. Thirty six. She was lucky, she knew that. Had Loghain not been leading the forces at the Vigil, she suspected the death toll would be much higher. But thirty six was a large number to one who had never lost more than half a dozen at any one time.

From her vantage point, she watched as Loghain and Varel went down the steps of the Keep and made their way to the field. Loghain was moving slowly and Leonie was sure it was only his stubborn pride that demanded he move at all without assistance. She couldn't help the smile that came to her at the thought. Stubborn, stubborn man. She made her way out to stand with them, the chill wind of autumn a refreshing caress. When Varel nodded, signaling that all were in attendance, Leonie stepped forward.

"A hero is a person of distinguished courage, who puts the safety of others above themselves, who does not waver in the face of their own fear. These thirty six souls who perished are all heroes and they will be remembered by every one of us whose lives they touched.

"Comes now the Gloaming,  
Creeping sweetly nigh,  
Gentle winds do take my soul,  
To dance upon the sky.

"Those words were written by en elf on the eve of battle. His name was Garahel and he wrote them in 5:24 Exalted, on the eve of the Battle of Ayesleigh. The next day he fell, slaying the Archdemon, Andoral, in personal combat. I can think of no more fitting words for _our_ heroes," Leonie finished and stepped back.

She watched as the pyres were lit. Voices rose in quiet tribute, a song of sorrow and hope. She heard Nathaniel's rich baritone join the others. Her Wardens drew nearer until they formed a single unit. She looked at them and then let her eyes travel; first to Varel, to Aura, to all the families and soldiers. The tears once again formed in the corners of her eyes, a silent acknowledgement of the brave men and women whose souls were taken by the gentle wind that welcomed the twilight.

This was her home, these people gathered around her were family; the past was a memory and the future yet to be written. Loghain took her hand in his and held it tightly, lending her his strength.

And in that moment, with the sound of voices lifting to dance upon the sky, and Loghain's rough and callused hand in hers, she found a perfect moment in time and knew the peace of a full and whole heart.

Fin

**A/N**: _As far as I know, Garahel was not, in fact, a poet warrior. The words are my own. But I can certainly imagine him saying them._


End file.
